


Our Bond Soars Higher Than the 60th Floors, But You Can't Keep Me Safe

by Delta_Immortal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Gunshots, M/M, Minor Character Death, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Possessive Behavior, Running, Tags to be added, chase scenes, future!Au, heat - Freeform, heights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delta_Immortal/pseuds/Delta_Immortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of his City-Country Beacon Hills, Stiles and other omega refugees are still penniless despite being hired by the Argent Cooperation of the city Nemeton. Occasionally an omega does get "loaned" to a wealthy citizen, but always right before their heat and they never come back. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on there.</p><p>Stiles is busy trying earn enough money through odd computer security jobs to finally get out of this dangerous sham. Plus, since werewolves are frowned upon in Nemeton, half his extra money goes to Scott. With his impulsive nature, Stiles has his hands full. There's no time for heat, for Alphas, or for bonds. </p><p>Until Derek Hale, one of Nemeton's most successful lawyers and wealthiest citizens, comes to visit and immediately forms a strong... obsession with Stiles. Stiles had better find some extra time soon, because with Derek comes a sudden price on Stiles's head. Someone is out for Stiles's blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

This sucked, being stuffed in a classroom and listening to his teacher drone on.

Stiles hated omega school. It wasn’t even a school all the time. Rather, it was a place where Beacon Hills put all he unmated omegas for work and study together for protection. There were documented cases of some meandering alphas or betas or humans deciding to take advantage of omegas in heat, and this resolved those issues best right now.

Stiles hated the idea of being round up and put away in a set of buildings. Even though they had freedom (neighboring cities didn’t even give their omegas the rights to _jobs_ ), it was easier to contain a very small minority than the majority. He’d argued about it with his father, who shrugged and patted him on the head, not completely unsympathetic.

At least things were improving; his father had recently gone to Nemeton to Argent security to come up with more security measures to give omegas the freedom they deserved. Things like locking doors, security cameras, or emergency escape tunnels were all part of the package he’d successfully negotiated. Already alarms and emergency transit systems and cameras had been installed, a great relief to many stir-crazy omegas wanting to move freely.

A text popped up from his father. **Pay attention.**

Stiles raised an eyebrow and looked at an experimental camera in the classroom, shaking his head and moving his phone to where his father couldn’t see it. Of course his father was giving it a test run. **I’m not a guinea pig,** Stiles texted back. He looked up for a moment to see Harris talking about heats and mates between werewolf alphas and omegas, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Most omegas had a beta or human for a mate. The only difference between them was how strong a bond might be. Some sort of werewolf nonsense, where the stronger the bond, the stronger werewolf, and if the wolf mated an omega, they would never lose power. Stiles wasn’t exactly sure.

Thinking of werewolves, he texted Scott. **How’s that vet internship going, buddy?**

Stiles kept on ignoring Harris. What could he have to learn? Stiles was an omega. He’d find his mate, body would go into a sudden heat, he’d get claimed, pop out babies. Provided his mate was from Beacon Hills, he’d be able to have a job, too. Not like Nemeton where omegas were rare and hidden and couldn’t get jobs. He clicked on a new article, mentioning how omega rates were dropping over there. Ugh.

A sudden rap on the desk jarred him from his phone. “So, then, Stilinski,” Harris snapped. The omega classmates giggled at him as he glared back. “Tell us about why an omega might not go into heat when meeting their mate?”

Stiles put his phone down and kept his eyes on Harris’s face. “Drugs,” he suggested, and the teacher pursed his lips together, not wanting to admit Stiles’s victory. Of course Stiles was right. He’d just read about how the big shot Nemeton lawyer Derek Hale had pushed charges against someone using drugs against omegas to induce a fake mating bond.

The teacher sighed while his omega classmates giggled. “Wrong answer,” Isaac texted him, “Though correct.”

“What will become of you, Stiles,” the teacher asked, sighing. “Just pay attention, all right? We’ve got three hours left of this mandatory sex ed, and then you can go home and do whatever it is you do on your phone, okay?”

Stiles shrugged as the teacher went back to the blackboard. Stiles checked his phone again, scowling at Isaac as he read the text, noting a new one from Scott.

**Hey, the water’s off? Why isn’t the water working?**

Stiles frowned. **Probably because you’re 40 floors up, dude. Perks of living in such a beautiful city-country. Must be some leak somewhere, maybe near the surface? No need to get to those new escape trains just yet.**

**Haha, right? They make the worst high-pitched noises.**

**Ugh. Must suck to have wolf-ears.**

**Yeah, but I’m not required at Mandatory Omega Sex Ed each year.**

He placed the phone down as his teacher looked at him. “If we were in any other city, you’d not have a phone,” Harris snapped, clearly upset by Stiles’s attachment to his portable communication system.

“Well, I don’t live in another city. I live here, in Beacon Hills, where we have rights for omegas and mandatory sex Ed,” Stiles replied, pointing out how much he knew how lucky he was. “And I don’t live on the surface, either,” he snapped, before Harris could suggest that.

Harris glared at him. “You _couldn’t_ survive,” he growled, his eyes glowing. This would be a terrible punishment. Why didn’t he ever control himself or his instincts? “Not unless you were a wolf-” He cut off, looking around suddenly.

That’s when the building rocked back and forth.

Alarms started to blare. They needed to leave. They needed to leave _now_. The alarms paused, and then announced, “To the escape transit” before ringing again, the message dispersed throughout the siren.

Stunned, the omegas started glancing at each other while Harris grabbed his ears and whimpered in the corner. He wasn’t going to be helping anyone; so much for having a werewolf led them if things started to go sour.

Since no one else was moving, Stiles grabbed his phone, hoping for some flicker of information to fall across the screen. “The lines are all dead,” he realized somberly, unable to get any Internet at all. He looked at Danny, scrambling on his own phone, desperately typing away.

“No connections at all,” Danny confirmed, looking up at Stiles. All the omegas turned to him, since Harris still whined in the corner. Partially because Stiles had the qualities of a leader, he thought.

Mostly because Stiles was the Sheriff’s son and knew the new emergency procedures.  “Right,” Stiles thought out loud, eyes darting out the window. Certainly there had to be something-

Smoke was pouring from the window, erasing the view of the city. Smoke was bad. The building rocking was bad. At least they had walkways to other buildings, Stiles remembered.

“To the escape trains,” Stiles commanded and at once headed to the doorway. “Kaiser building, 30th floor.” He looked around at all the confused omegas looking around helplessly. “Follow me,” he snapped, frustrated nobody had been informed on emergency routes just in case. There wasn’t time to wait for someone to tell them what to do.

Luckily they followed and followed out behind him, ignoring loud bursts of sound from somewhere far away. Stiles kept moving. They kept following. Good. That’s how it needed to be right now.

He ran up to the main walkway, pushing the doors open. It took no time at all for the class and others who had followed them to run into the open entrance; from there it was just a straight run, and they’d make it. Stiles kept a head count, seeing everyone except…

Except Harris.

Fuck.

Isaac ran past, one of the last ones out, and Stiles grabbed his hand. “Harris?” he asked.

Isaac shrugged. Stiles waited as the rest of the unmated omegas ran by, his face worried. Normally he wouldn’t mind leaving Harris, but the loud bangs didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t just let someone die.

“Alright,” Stiles decided out loud. “I’ll go back for him- you go without me if I take too long.”

Despite Isaac’s shouts of, “Stiles, no!”, Stiles ran back for the rooms at the stupid omega school for unbounded omegas, hoping somewhere to see Harris. No such luck.

Given how the building was swaying, his impulses might have actually killed him this time.

Trying to keep his footsteps sure and quick, he dashed into the main doors of the hallway. He ignored how the high pitched buzzing of the new Argent alarms drained out all sound, calling for Harris anyway.

For once, luck was with him. He rounded the corner and noted Harris slumped on the floor, hands over his ears. At least Harris had moved. Sighing in relief, he sent a quick voice message to Danny. “Found him. We’re coming.”

It might not make it, but it was worth a shot, at least. He slipped the phone back in his pocket, taking a step closer. Harris snarled at him, but Stiles started pumping out a relaxing scent, hoping in some way to pacify him. “Hey, Mr. Harris,” he said softly, and Harris glared at him, his claws extended.

“Come on, Harris,” he snapped. “We’ve got to get to the emergency escape.”

Harris kept growling, snarling, standing, but Stiles couldn’t leave him even if Harris was completely feral. They both jumped as something loud crashed behind them, and the lights went out, emergency red ones suddenly glowing in the darkness. “Come on,” Stiles snapped. “You’ve got to come on!”

Harris growled at him, claws extended, swiping. At that moment Stiles tried to pump out even more pheromones, but he was already regretting coming back for Harris. “Come on,” he said again, hoping Harris would be more affected by smell than sound. “Come on, Harris!”

He started to pull on Harris’s sleeve, and the wolf suddenly looked on him with hungry eyes.

“Yes,” the beta hissed. “Yes. We should. Come, On.” he agreed, suddenly his nose twitching. Stiles didn't mention how creepy it was Harris had moved to single word sentences. He moved towards Stiles, his stance predatory. “You naughty thing. So naughty. Mine. Mine now. My chance-“

Stiles didn’t stay. He ran, and Harris screamed behind him.

Stiles was too far behind the other omegas to catch up. At least comfort built in his chest knowing Danny was one of the administered omegas who would lead them to help; Stiles was one of the other ones. He blindly ran up the stairs, wincing as he noted they were blocked by smoke. And worse, the shut gates of the walkway, another new Argent security feature, blocked them even more than mere smoke.

Crap. He looked around, knowing he’d have to go back down three flights in order to take the other entrance.

Ugh, why did cities have to be so complicated, anyway?

He turned around, praying he wouldn’t see Harris. And he didn’t; for once, it seemed fate was working with him. He checked his phone- still not working, but he sent a text anyway, just in case, to Danny.

**I’m still on the 27** ** th ** **floor. Harris went crazy, is lost. Leave without me if I’m not there in 10 minutes.**

Stiles threw his phone back in his pocket, looking around him for a walkway. He needed to get to one quickly, given how uncomfortably the building was titling.

The emergency exit train was two buildings over, he remembered. Time to start heading there.

The building swayed and Stiles heard something metal snap; he cursed and ran down the flights of stairs, heart soaring as he saw daylight outside. He dove out to the walkway, racing in the open air, ignoring how metal groaned and twisted behind him.

Someone shouted at him from the doorway- Isaac. Isaac had waited for him, searched for him, and was now encouraging him on. Stiles ran as fast as possible until he slammed into Isaac, who grabbed him tightly and rolled them to the safety of the building. Only then did Stiles look back, seeing the school building collapse and take the walkway with it. It fell into fires at the bottom.

“Oh God,” he uttered, praying his father had never been in the building. At least Stiles had made it in time, he thought, thinking of Harris.

“None of the phones work,” Isaac snapped quickly, picking Stiles up. “Some of the Argent guards have shown up. They’re escorting us to the new city.” Stiles followed him, the hallway thick with fear and confusion. They crossed into another walkway, this one closed off to the elements, advertisements smiling at them as they ran.

“Where did they come from?” Stiles asked. “Aren’t they supposed to have a response time of an hour, since they’re from Nemeton?” He kept running, though, watching Isaac slide to the door, pounding on it.

Two people were arguing behind about letting one go, but as Stiles and Isaac slipped in, the blonde woman’s face suddenly relaxed. “You made it,” she announced.

Stiles nodded, breathing heavily.

“No time,” she finished, “Explosions everywhere. Get in the car.” The two guards and the two omegas- the last of them- hauled themselves into the car. Stiles grabbed his phone, sending a text to Scott and his dad, saying he was okay. The woman next to him pulled out her phone, typing something.

His messages didn’t send.

The woman’s phone made a zip-sound and she quickly placed the phone in her pocket. “Well,” she sighed. “We’ll have to get you all adjusted to life in Nemeton. We don’t believe in freeloaders there.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in disbelief at this lady’s callousness. After all, there was no reason to believe most people had died or that the city was unsalvageable. The entire city wasn’t going up in flames.

Another explosion rattled the car. When Stiles looked out the window, he realized how wrong he was.

The car rounded the track and Stiles realized how much of the city was in flames. Isaac and Stiles might be the last survivors. Red and black danced in his eyes as he took in the sight of his city burning, falling to the surface.

He let himself shut down for a little bit.

“Luckily, we’ve got jobs for you all,” the woman continued. “Part of the agreement.” She smiled and leered at them, but Stiles was too busy staring at the sight of Beacon Hills falling into rubble.

He prayed Scott and his dad had made it through.


	2. Chapter One: Angry Rich Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is I've actually written all of this story, and am editing it between grad school applications. There will be at least one chapter every week. :)

It was a bitterly cold morning, much different than what he was used to at Beacon Hills years ago. Stiles hated these mornings; hated their tiny room near the outside balcony; hated being an omega. He opened his eyes, shivering and pulled off his thin blanket. His heat had finished early this morning, which meant his body could pick back up on bodily functions. Groaning to himself, he looked at the door, barely locked and not at all doing its part to keep out the cold breeze, then back at his pillow.

The warmth was tempting, but he really had to poop. Badly. Fucking heat.

“Heat break?” came the sleepy question from his roommate Isaac. Isaac was much in the same boat as Stiles; both omegas, both from the ruined town of Beacon Hills, both enrolled in this sham of an Omega House, whatever the fuck that really was. All Stiles knew is that it was some place to house all the Beacon Hills omegas of the city and keep them in 60 story dorms with not enough bathrooms or water or anything. Hell, Isaac and Stiles still didn’t have a working window. Despite what it told the public, the Omega House never did its part to help.

The job agreement with the Argents meant they couldn’t get other jobs in this city since the Argents technically currently employed them. Unofficially, they weren’t employed at all, never having hours and never working, stuck inside dorms of twelve people per room. Though right now Stiles and Isaac remained the only omegas still occupying their room.

Stiles very much suspected his roommates’ disappearances were related to the drug ring he’d read about the day of the explosion. Omegas near heat were often given jobs through the Omega House to high rolling members of society. They never came back, probably dumped on the surface, and Stiles and Isaac came back to yet another empty bed. They were run too ragged to care, snatching up blankets so their toes didn’t freeze and hoped they weren’t next.

The public never heard about omega disappearances because no one wanted to deal with people who had suddenly entered the city and were now considered a drain on society. As far as they knew, the Omega House took care of all the Beacon Hill omegas and gave them jobs. Hurray, how wonderful of them, back to whatever was on for entertainment.

Stiles hated the Argents. He hated this city. He hated the Omega House.

At least Stiles didn’t have to be coded here. At least they gave omegas freedom to roam, didn’t make them wear ankle monitors. He swallowed as he thought to Scott. Then he rolled over, letting the bitter cold nip at him through his thin clothes.

Werewolves were treated even more poorly than omegas, despite the fact that they hadn’t been evacuated from Beacon Hills. They survived long enough on the surface to crawl their way to Nemeton, only to be rewarded with ankle monitors, twenty a room, and dangerous jobs no human wanted to take. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because they were werewolves or foreign werewolves, without the territory normally assigned to Nemeton wolves.

“Stiles.”

Stiles blinked up from his thoughts. Isaac raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed with Stiles’s common ability to forget where he was and focus on what he was thinking. It was best to answer when Isaac spoke so tersely. “Yup. Got the shits now.”

Isaac shook his head in sympathy, curling up in his bed to keep warm. Part of Stiles wanted to give Isaac his blankets, and the other part said fuck it. They didn’t have _much_ in common. Sure, they’d escaped together, and sure, they were unmated omegas the same age, but Stiles didn’t owe Isaac anything, just like Isaac didn’t owe Stiles anything. Stiles looked out for himself.

With that in mind, he tossed the blanket over his bed and stood up in his pajamas, bracing himself for the wind outside.

As soon as Stiles undid the deadbolt, the door flew open as the wind caught the flimsy material. The wooden door slammed against the dusty concrete walls of their room with a thud, but Isaac didn’t even jump, accustomed to the sound. Quickly Stiles stepped out of the room and slid it back shut, jiggling the door handle to keep it that way. As he started walking down towards the bathroom, he passed one omega flushed and sweating with heat.

“Careful, Millie,” someone else told the woman as Stiles walked onwards, “They’re making rounds tonight. Let’s get you some relief at least.”

Stiles thanked his lucky stars his heat was already finished. Often the House would pull rich people from the center and bring them up each floor, trying to get someone “rescued”. The center would get a lot of money, and the rich person would get an omega in heat. Also, they would get a public example of their philanthropy, but that was never the reason why they came.

Stiles had never gotten so lost as to lose his inhibitions during heat, at least. Though, he suspected the rich patrons wore some sort of Alpha pheromone to induce a stronger heat. They never really saw the omegas again, though Stiles knew that they didn’t stay. He knew, because those same men and women kept coming back.

Shit. He didn’t want to think about it right now.

He threw the bathroom door open, hearing few people in the showers, and seeing less on the toilets. He squatted down over the trough and emptied his system, waving as Danny passed him by. “What’s going on?” he asked. Might as well make company here.

Danny shrugged, squatting just a few steps in front of him. “Another beautiful day,” he remarked sarcastically. “We’re above the smog, someone’s ‘helping’ tonight, and Greenburg just got a job- a real ones.”

“Representing?” Stiles asked, thinking about it. Greenberg was pretty; no doubt the company would use him as a model for their publicity posters and company face. With Greenberg living on the eleventh floor slums, it would be a rags-to-riches story. Greenberg would be set. Exploited, horribly exploited, but set.

“Exactly.” Danny shrugged, finishing his business and standing up. “Heads up. There’s a new omega-friendly Internet Cafe in town. Near the Mall,” he added. “Might worth be checking out.”

“You set it up?” Stiles asked, giving him a wink.

Though omegas weren’t allowed to have traditional jobs (especially not foreign omegas who would ruin the pure bloodline of the city), there were always a couple lapses in the system. There were always a few people to look the other way. Danny got by through installing software and dealing with computers. He put most of his money away in case he’d need to run to some place kinder that didn’t require every citizen to have a job.

Stiles did online work, looking through security and hacking. It was a nice and steady job, but most of his time was spent in internet cafes far away from the dorms. That meant a good chunk of money was kept away in case of bribes for officers (“Why are you out so late at night, Omega?”), or for bribes to continue to use the cafe. That’s if his clients paid him; in the first couple of cases Stiles took, he didn’t get paid at all, and he didn’t have the money for a lawyer to sue.

Perhaps he was selfish- he knew he wasn’t the only omega to have a side job. He and Danny kept their money, but for others, what little they did make often went back to the dorms. Medicine, food, blankets, whatever. Danny and Stiles were both in a position of trying to save all their money for escape. But damn if it didn’t make it hate himself when he watched someone fall over the balcony, too delirious with fever to realize where they were walking.

But he had his own people to take care of, too, the thought, bowels giving another squeeze.

“Systems emptying?” Came an unwanted voice. Stiles flipped this new guy off, not bothering to look at him.

Danny had already walked away and headed into the group shower. Stiles watched him flinch and shiver with the cold, and decided he could wait another day to bathe. Maybe tomorrow they’d get hot water.

 

***

 

Not at all worried about anyone looking over his shoulder, Stiles sipped his coffee in the back of the Internet cafe while his programs went to work. If anyone couldn’t read what he did- it was all encrypted, anyway.

His current job was working for Argent Communications, the same group and family that had taken the omegas in. But though he wasn’t thrilled about working for them, their network security team was happy to have him freelance, and had even paid him 5% in advance. Right now he was reviewing his report. The Argent Communications enterprise had several vulnerabilities within the emergency shutdown systems of the InterCity communication cables. Deep below the earth, even under the ocean, they could be overwritten. In three separate cases, they could overheat and be lost completely.

If there was one thing the Argents didn’t want, it was to lose communications between the major cities anymore. That’d be catastrophic. When Beacon Hills went down no city had the infrastructure to host millions of refugees, so they all got split up. Their old currencies were no good, and their skills useless- others had those. The cities sagged with the weight of more mouths to feed- the only thing keeping them in control of the populace and getting aid was communication. Ships and trains were so tight now, if they didn’t have that communication, they’d be lost. Blind. Forgotten.

Stiles swallowed, trying not to think of the fire. That’s the first thing that went wrong- all their communication was cut off in Beacon Hills. Fires broke out. Panic. Citizens leaping from buildings, the nets put up to save people ripping from the sheer weight of human bodies.

Stiles sipped his coffee, typing to his supervisor. Kay typed back immediately.

**Those _are_ some serious vulnerabilities. I’ll get on this immediately. Thanks for finding them. **

Stiles nodded. Y **ou're welcome** , he typed. **Do you want me to keep looking for others?**

 **Of course** , Kay replied. I **f our programmers haven’t seen these, there’s no telling what else they’ve overlooked. Thanks again for this. I’ve forwarded you a bit of payment; 15%. The remaining is still tied up, but I’m sure it’ll be there by next week.**

Stiles pursed his lips. He’d thought he’d gotten past this, past being hired by cheapskates. She’d given him his requested amount up front, but kept adding things he hadn’t expected. There was no possibility they were paying him a fair rate.

His cell phone dinged with his bank account update, and he checked it automatically, pleased that there was more than enough to save for the future _and_ visit Scott tomorrow. He sent a text to Scott telling him he’d visit, then sent another to Scott’s cell phone provider, paying Scott’s phone bill.

He was so glad Scott had managed to come here, with him, instead of another city. He was so glad Scott had survived.

Kay was typing, sending out another message. **Your work is amazing.**

Pride welled up in his chest. Stiles’s work _was_ amazing. It just was overlooked, because what would an omega know? Plus, any certification or schooling he’d had back in Beacon Hills was useless. Nemeton had its own credentials and its own systems. Stiles didn’t fit in, so he never got the time of day.

 **You won’t say that if it comes up with more problems** , Stiles typed back. The coffee was good, but it was nearing the end of a day, and he didn’t have much more time to run the program. **All right,** he typed. **I’ve got to get back home.**

 **Have a safe trip!** Kay replied. Stiles logged off, uploading all his information to his phone and backing it onto a nano sim. It saved time; he didn’t have to wait for the information to load, load, and load when he moved to a different shop. Given how the boss man kept looking at him for the past 30 minutes, he would have to move to a different shop.

Damn. Well, no use putting it off. Not if he wanted to make the trains.

He walked to the front, getting his ID from the boss. “Omega,” the boss commented, and Stiles didn’t make eye contact. He usually dealt with a sympathetic worker, not this asshole. “Your kind gets all up in lust, right? Wants to be fucked senseless? Needs a big strong cock-“

Stiles waited until the man finished his sneering, holding out his hand patiently. It wouldn’t be worth it to be banned. Not again.

“Get out of here,” the owner hissed, angry at Stiles’s lack of appreciation for his snide remarks. “You lazy freeloader, using my money to pay for your time.” The man hit the desk with the ID, but Stiles snatched it and ran off like a light, not wanting to wait around to be yelled out.

“Bastard,” Stiles snarled. There wasn’t much choice, though. Maybe he’d check out that place closer to Scott that Danny had talked about. It was an extra hour on the train, but if it was a friendlycafe, that’d be worth it. Better than this place, trying to hide from the owner each time he came in, failing miserably all the time.

One of the big old clocks banged out and lights began flickering along the walkway. Hurrying past the brightly lit advertisements, he recognized one as a public announcement for the omega House. Another advertised for Hale Law Firm, with a redhead on the side. Neither of them meant much to Stiles right now.

He kept moving on the walkway and wouldn’t stop until he’d made it to the platform. As he walked he felt for his standing class train ticket, the cheapest affordable. Being late meant there wouldn’t be room board.  If he got on late he’d have nothing to hold onto for an hour, his own legs holding him up each way. And after his heat, he really couldn’t do that _and_ deal with a showing. Visitors. Whatever they called that nonsense.

Hurriedly he moved towards the train station entrance, weaving through the walkways. At a bottleneck he got stuck, forcing himself to look around. Up above, near the 40th floors, there were private walkways with vehicles and cars, encased in glass that was probably heated. Below were simply service ways, enough for one or two people, probably filled with needles and drugs. But here on the 30th, there was just wind and cold only held at bay by the sheer number of bodies.

It was tempting to use the service way to hurry, but they twisted and tangled themselves around buildings. There was no sense of direction, no way to know them, and you’d often get in trouble if the cops caught you. So Stiles was stuck for now, waiting for the bottleneck, and what caused it- oh.

Several upper class people were coming down the buildings in the elevators, coming into the station to fill up the first class cars. Stiles was further behind than he thought. Usually he made it through before the bottleneck formed. He pushed past a blonde woman, clearly waiting for her boss and ignored her yell of indignation. She glared and her boss looked at her, looking serious and dumb and handsome.

Stiles needed to move on. They wouldn’t follow him. Rich men like that took their secretaries to the first class cars, but he was in last class- he moved into the entrance, sliding in his pre-bought ticket. The machine beeped and took it, spiting it back out. He was home free- only other standing classes were allowed in this section.

No one would follow him, and he ran down the steps, heart quickening as he realized the train was already boarding. Stiles ran to the back, hoping it wasn’t free, and luckily there was a spot next to the doors- something to lean on. He found his place and closed his eyes, phone tucked away safely.

 

***

 

By the time Stiles got off the train, he was sticky with sweat though it couldn’t be helped. He hopped along towards his building, seeing a crowd of people near the 30th floor entrance.

One of them was his “boss”. Drat.

Carefully he moved away from the crowd. He tried not to overhear how the “poor refugees” lived and how others might be able to “assist” them with “jobs” and whatever else they called their slavery. Stiles moved to the back of the crowd, slipping away once they entered the building. He moved to the stairs, knowing he could run up them faster than they could. Before he shut the door, he noted a flash of blonde hair behind him, followed by a figure that looked a lot like the man.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d followed someone to this event. So long as they didn’t recognize hi .

Taking the steps two by two,Stiles texted Isaac: **On Stairs**. At the fifth flight Isaac was at the door. “We’ve got the elevator,” Isaac told him. “Hurry.”

Stiles followed after him, running for the door, landing safely in the dingy little thing. “I hate post-heat day,” Stiles complained, but Isaac only shrugged in sympathy. Stiles continued. “You think they’d put similar cycles on the same floor.”

“You’d think they’d give us real jobs or something,” Isaac replied coldly, not really caring.

“Oh, we have ‘real’ jobs,” Stiles quipped. “We just don’t work any hours.” He gave Isaac a shit-eating grin as Isaac rolled his eyes. The elevator dinged and Isaac helped Stiles to his feet, pulling them into a crowd of omegas waiting to be looked at. The guard giving commands kept repeating how they should try to force their heats because it made them more attractive. The guard to the side took their IDs and scanned them, recording their presence. If they didn’t show, their bed went away.

“Now then. You there,” the main guard said, pointing to the woman Stiles had passed earlier. “You look like you need someone to help you out, right?” the man leered, and Stiles remembered the café man’s words, angry.

Fuck it. There was only so much he could take in a day. Once again he let his instincts lead him probably somewhere bad.

“With money,” Stiles called out. Danny eyed him worriedly over the crowd, but Stiles kept his eyes focused on the guard. “Like maybe giving us real jobs instead of trying to sell us out to the highest bidder.”

The guard straightened. “The Argents are _helping_ ,” the man replied. “They take care of you lot during your heats.”

“And what happens after?” Stiles demanded. “They’ve gotten a kick out of their savior complex, throw us down to the wastes? To the ground?”

The crowd grew silent. Isaac had given Stiles space, not wanting to be associated with him. Part of Stiles knew this was stupid. They would sell him off now, but he just couldn’t care, with the stress of post-heat day and with the guy’s words. He could be living with Scott instead, right now, with the money Kay had sent him.

Stiles wanted to snap and yell and he would. “And all of this is just some pretty little setup to thin us out, to-“

The guard raised a hand, palms spread and sparkling with electricity. Stiles braced himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d be punished for speaking out, but he had hoped to give his phone away to Isaac before risking its destruction. Kay would be so upset at him. He might not get that money after all.

“Listen here, you, brat,” he snarled, swinging at Stiles. Stiles barely dodged the hit. “Just because you have some skills doesn’t mean everyone else can do hacking.”

And what? How did the guard even know what he did? Stiles frowned and turned to run, but the guard slammed him into the ground, one fist raised back.

The punch didn’t come.

Stiles froze for a moment, watching a tight hand grasp the man’s arm. “Let him speak.”

It was a heavy, dark growl, rough and thick with warning. It made Stiles shiver inside, his omega nature suddenly wanting to please the voice. Instincts taking over, he stilled.

The guard froze along with Stiles at the voice. Both turned to see the bearded rich guy next to the blonde lady from earlier, both of them lead by the Omega House boss. The bearded guy’s eyes glared in warning, jaw set, not a trace of dust or shit on him, clothes not worn to the bone. He even had _gloves_ , the fucker.

Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to smack him or maybe present for him.

Whoever this guy was, he was rich. Stiles kept his mouth shut, wanting to go back to his room, not be on this exposed balcony. Stiles looked at the guard, pushed him off and then tried to slink away, hoping to escape this guy’s gaze.

No such luck. As soon as the guard looked away, Mr. Rich’s eyes went directly to Stiles. Damn.

Their boss (CEO, maybe?) cleared his throat. “Everyone, dismissed,” the man demanded, and Stiles and Isaac hurried against the crowd to their room. The wind carried the voices, angry and hot, the rich man ripping the guard a new one. Stiles wrapped himself in his thin blanket and hid his cell in the mattress, pointedly not looking at Isaac.

“Window’s still broken,” he muttered.

Isaac shook his head. “What were you _thinking_?” he asked. “Your crazy post-heat get to you? The train? Stiles, no job is worth it if you can’t keep yourself from doing that!” Isaac sighed, his phone beeping. After he checked it, he declared, “Danny is asking if you’re still alive.”

Stiles shrugged, hugging his blanket tighter around him. “Maybe,” he hissed. “Wait until Mr. Rich buys me. If I come back after three days, tell him I live.”

The voices outside had died down. That wasn’t good. Stiles closed his eyes and slipped his phone underneath his pillow. This would not end well for him.

It was no surprise when the door slammed open, the rich guy stomping in and breathing heavily, eyes focused on Stiles. He stopped only inches from Stiles’s bed, leaning down. “You should come home with me,” he breathed, his fingers into his fists. “It’s not safe here.”

Whoa, okay. That wasn’t normal. Rich guy was acting way more aggressive than others- perhaps he’d taken a bit too much Alpha pheromone drugs and was affected by it?

The guards didn’t seem upset, and Stiles bet the guy had already “hired” him. Stiles glanced over the man’s form, knowing this guy would be his master. The Argents would sell him off and-

Isaac came to his rescue, breaking him from his thoughts. “You broke our door, dude,” he lied. Amazingly, it broke the tension- the man turned his gaze at Isaac for a moment. Able to breathe in Isaac’s calming scent, Stiles let himself follow suit, panic attack abating.

He owed Isaac more blankets.

The angry and yet sexy man glared at the door for a long moment, breathing in heavily. _Probably also trying to calm himself,_ Stiles thought, shooting Isaac a thankful glance before sitting up straight and looking the man straight in the eye. He attempted to ignore how much he could picture this guy in his bed.

That had nothing to do with right now. The man would chew him up and spit him out. “You don’t want me, dude,” he said softly. “I just finished my heat. I won’t-“

The man’s nostril’s flared, ( _Almost like a werewolf_ , Stiles thought) and he waited. Rich guy probably took some Alpha-scent drug earlier and now had some crazy side effects, or maybe he really was a supernatural. But by the way he snarled and came in here, rich guy probably had some sort of crazy ideas about omegas, just like the rest of them.

Mr. Rich threw a cash card in front of Stiles and then threw his personal phone onto the bed to show how much was on the card. That… That was a lot. Stiles swallowed and looked up at the man, pale. He could wire that money to Scott; get Scott a bed in a dorm like this. Keep Scott off the ground. Stiles bit his lip.

For that amount of money, Scott would be safe for two years at least.

The pretty man awkwardly looked at the window. “That’s broken, too” he muttered, then turned back to Stiles. “I want to pay you for companionship,” the man began, but his body tightened up, face sour. Soon it settled out with the guy sniffing, probably thinking he could smell how much Stiles was interested in his offer.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a lot like illegal activity,” Stiles replied. “Most people give the illusion of having a job, first. Like a maid. Or entertainer. Or something.” He waited, leaning back, not willing to be one of this man’s whims.

The man nodded. “Yes.” The man looked down at the ground, obviously uncomfortable.

He offered nothing else. Stiles looked at Isaac for help. This man wasn’t just blunt. He was crazy.

And heaven help him, Stiles felt interested. “You ever seen such a beauty?” he asked, holding out his hands to indicate the room.

“No. Never,” the man said quickly, staring back up at Stiles. Rich guy made no attempt to look at the room at all.

From the other side of the room, Isaac’s incredulous face met Stiles’s, at least validating his emotions. The fuck was up with this guy? Was he just daft? Was he a moron?

Crazy.

A crazy who might be easily parted with his money. Stiles could see the opportunities here.

“I… that is a gift,” the man continued, and Stiles tampered down on his urge to celebrate. “I have provided you with a gift.” He puffed out his chest a little, like a dog looking for praise from its master. Stiles nodded, taking the card, watching as Derek’s eyes lit up. No malice, at least. Just an honest gaze, something… fond?

The fuck was _wrong_ with this man? I _provided_ you with a gift?

“You want me to be your mistress?” Stiles asked, giving a dry smile as he spread his legs a little. The blankets kept him from feeling too exposed. “Want to delight in the joys of omega heat, to feel-“

The man waved a hand, going bright red, taking steady breaths as he hid his face. Maybe he did. Stiles kept underneath the blankets. Finally, the man shook his head. “No. No, not if you don’t want that,” he finished. “I… saw you.” He stopped, as if disappointed with what he said. “I saw you outside. There.”

If anything, he looked even more disappointed in himself.

“You were with the blonde lady on the train platform,” Stiles realized, and the man’s eyes shot up, hopeful.

“Yes. Yes, I was.” He squeezed his own hands. “You remember. Yes. Us. N-Not us. Us.” There were some unhelpful hand gestures and more

Isaac was texting someone behind them, probably laughing about what a crazy bastard this man was.

“Okay. So you followed me here?”

“Yes,” the man answered. “I followed- tracked you here. Chased you.” He stopped, face horrified, and he covered his mouth. At least he felt some semblance of shame.

Stiles’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a bit creepy, you know. Most people don’t do that.” Immediately the man’s face fell. Something wasn’t quite right. The man seemed upset at the word creepy, like Stiles had shattered his world. Something else was going on, a mystery. Maybe he was a supernatural creature, one Stiles didn’t know about. Maybe a wolf. He might have to ask Scott about some things. But right now, there was a mystery standing in front of Stiles offering him money and not making him leave the room and not demanding Stiles work for him.

And free money.

Stiles had dealt with worse. He could escape this.  Clearing his throat, he announced, “Let’s start again.” Isaac’s squawk as Stiles threw off the blankets went ignored. Stiles stood up, extending his hand. “My name is Stiles Stilinski. You probably know that already.”

The man refused to acknowledge that he did, creepy fucker, but took his hand, face looking a lot like an orgasm face at the touch, slack and stupid and smiling. “Derek,” the man replied hoarsely. “Derek Hale.”

Then his posture changed, something assured and strong, demanding to have attention paid to him. Inwardly Stiles felt himself attempt to obey, the omega instinct pleased at seeing such a strong posture.

“I will keep seeing you,” Derek commanded. “I will give you money and things, and you will be mine and no one else’s.” He preened as Stiles nodded numbly, not even hearing the second part of what Derek said or noticing how controlling his words were.

Stiles definitely knew that name. Derek Hale was one of the richest men in Nemeton. 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek left once Isaac suggested maybe Derek and Stiles could text or something like normal people starting a relationship. Derek had only too eagerly agreed, sending Stiles his number and insisting Stiles could call about anything. Then he left looking like it physically hurt him, while Isaac assured Derek that Stiles would be all right. Stiles waved like a brain-dead scarecrow, too stunned by what had just happened to think straight.

Stiles sent him a text soon after just in case the guy was tempted to come back. **Thanks for the cash. I’ll use it to buy some swanky gloves _._** Normally men didn’t leave here without the omega, so that Derek was leaving without Stiles, without _hiring_ Stiles… that was a puzzle. One Stiles didn’t want to focus on it. Did Derek really mean to provide for him? To mate with him?

Or maybe his drugs weren’t effective and he would go back and give a report? And come back with more drugs to test on Stiles?

Or maybe… Derek was his mate? Stiles frowned, considering it.

“Man, that guy hit the drugs hard,” Isaac muttered to Stiles, locking the door in place. “What the fuck? I want to _buy_ you?”

“My companionship,” Stiles replied, but somehow he felt fond of the guy. Derek only had an eager expression on his face, and Stiles felt Derek was at least trustworthy. That was… dumb. That was a dumb feeling. That was the kind of feeling that would have him taken advantage of in this city. Still, he couldn’t shake it. From the bottom of his heart, he swore he _felt_ Derek’s sincerity when he spoke. If Derek hadn’t left, Stiles wouldn’t have doubted his words at all.

**Buy some boots, as well. I’ve got plenty of blankets if you need more. Or heaters.**

Stiles read the text before whistling. “Damn,” he muttered. “Maybe I can get him to put heating in our rooms.”

Isaac shrugged, crawling back into his bed and to his phone. “You got a spare charger?” he asked, and Stiles slid him the charger in thanks for dealing with Stiles’s brain-dead activity. He flushed, embarrassed by his earlier actions, distracting himself by moving money into his savings and into Scott’s accounts.

Almost immediately Scott texted him, confused about all the updates he was probably getting. **What’s goin’ on bro?**

 **Good job paid off** , Stiles lied easily. It was much easier to lie to a werewolf over texting than speaking. He didn’t any send more texts in case Scott’s boss was watching, but he put his phone in his pocket as he wondered about Derek.

Derek seemed pretty fixated on Stiles. Stiles never had such a thing happen before- usually people ignored him. Nor did any of the rich guys act like that, following omegas into rooms and claiming to own them, or even leave without him. Or speaking in single word sentences.

That was the biggest oddity, one he felt he’d seen before, but where? Where had he seen it?

A reminder on his phone pinged about visiting the new cyber cafe, and Stiles tried his best to forget. He sighed and rolled over, looking over the information about the Argent Company, not wanting to look into this sudden obsession from some Derek Hale.

He failed.

He knew these stories. They never ended in happily ever after. They ended in heat-inducer addictions on the fucking ground, so deep no one would be able to help them. “You think he’s going to slip you drugs?” Isaac asked, and Stiles closed his information about the Argent Securities and looked up at his roommate.

“I doubt it,” Stiles replied, but texted the question to Derek anyway. Might as well.

“Don’t text him that!” Isaac protested, but Stiles shrugged as he sent it off. “You’re the worst. Now he will drug you.”

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes, only looking at one last text before he went to sleep.

**You’ll never need drugs with me.**

 

***

 

The train to the new coffee shop was a much longer trip than normal. Stiles ignored the ache in his feet as he read the new message, reminding himself that he’d at least be able to see Scott more often if the new shop worked out. He was even going to see Scott today.

A message from Kay: Sweetie, where are you?

Stiles typed away, telling her he’d missed the train, and he’d have online access soon. He typed to Scott and immediately was met with another message.

**Did you eat breakfast?**

Well, that wasn’t stalker-like at all. Perhaps those fake hormones hadn’t been washed out of Derek’s system yet. He sent a quick voice message. “Not yet, dude. On the train.”

Kay’s message popped up next. In summary, she understood. She knew parts of his situation, for example, Stiles was an omega working from a public computer. She was far more flexible and understanding about it than his last job. He messaged her a thanks and smiled as Derek sent him back a text.

**You should eat something to keep your strength up.**

The instinct of being provided for, of being looked after flared up, and Stiles felt a smidgen of happiness glow in his chest, thrilled at the idea of someone _caring_ about him. No. He needed to squash that down. Derek was unhinged, dangerous. Probably on-

The train TV turned to another commercial, and Derek’s voice brought Stiles away from his phone. Derek Hale. Right. He was a lawyer, owner of the Hale Company. The company dealt with laws and fees for corporations and businesses, which meant Derek was way loaded, unlike human rights lawyers who had no money and tried to support thousands of people per lawyer. There was nothing in the world Derek couldn’t buy, and right now Derek wanted to buy Stiles _everything_.

Again, instinctively Stiles felt pleased at that, pleased at Derek fawning over him. Stiles groaned as he caught himself smiling, typing a message to the guy. **Your commercial is on the train. Your voice startled me. Fix it.**

The train stopped, and another message came through. **How?**

Before Stiles could keep texting, someone pushed him out of the way. “Watch it, asshole!” he snapped. “Squatters rights!”

The guy’s lip lifted, bearing his teeth, but he moved away. Stiles sent a gesture his way before returning to his phone. **Lydia says I can’t recall the commercial** , the message read.

Stiles blanked. This guy was so gone, he was willing to pull…

Hadn’t he thought Derek seemed supernatural?

Stiles immediately fired a text to Scott. **Tell me about werewolf bonds** , he demanded, and started searching the web. Maybe this wasn’t drugs. Maybe the guy was over his head in love with Stiles. But from what Stiles remembered, the bond went both ways, and his body would immediately start producing slick and they’d fuck right there. Anyone could watch them, and that was kinda the point.

What was happening here… was more like a crush? A one-sided bond?

Stiles didn’t know. This wasn’t like anything he knew, or anything he expected. “That’s okay, man,” he said, sending the message. It dawned on him Derek had been the one he’d read about years ago, about busting in on a high alpha pheromone drug ring. Maybe Derek was a good guy. Stiles wanted to believe it. “It’s kinda cool to see you in your element.”

**Maybe one day I’ll see you in yours.**

Jesus if that didn’t go straight to Stiles’s cock. He could easily imagine it, Derek taking care of him through his heats, all big and helpful. Luckily his body was still heat exhausted, and there wasn’t any way he could get it up right now. But he’d save that text for later, because that text reeked of jack off material.

Derek hadn’t demanded Stiles come work for him, Stiles realized. Derek had assumed (perhaps wrongly) that Stiles already had a steady job. He hadn’t demanded Stiles come work for him, and gave him space- no one who had bought omegas had ever done that, as far as Stiles knew. It was always getting picked, shipped out, a shiny new contract and nobody came back. Nobody stayed, either.

Though he lusted after Stiles (for whatever reason), Derek didn’t attempt to _own_ Stiles.

Stiles pursed his lips. He could wait to see this play out. Possibly Derek had forgotten to make a contract. Or maybe Derek had a contract and Stiles didn’t know about it. Or he could text Derek and ruin it.

Well.

Derek hadn’t signed a contract yet. Stiles would have to sign the other half.

“Why didn’t you force me into a contract?” he asked and sent off the message. His alarm beeped- two more stops.

**What? Is that what they do? Force omegas into contracts?**

Oh. Stiles scoffed. “Uh, yeah. They pick someone in pre-heat and get them a job as a maid or masseuse or something and then the omega is gone, never seen again.”

**What happens to them? Surely there are other jobs?**

“Oh, yeah, like being the omega spokesperson about the House. No other jobs, man. We’re mostly living on contracts and debt. They lend us all their money,” Stiles confessed. “You go get a rich omega, and then after heat, you’re used up and get dumped with the trash to the ground.” The message sent before he could finish.

Someone in the train coughed and gave him a dirty glare. Other passengers around looked uncomfortable with Stiles spouting anger at the House. Stiles glared right back, but changed his input to texting.

When Derek texted him again, Stiles could practically hear the disbelief. **That’s illegal**. **There’s no way that happens.**

 **That’s the way the cookie crumbles** , Stiles replied. Then Derek sent back a couple names, and Stiles confirmed he’d never seen nor heard from them again.

Finally the train stopped at his station. Armed with his phone, Stiles walked out and tried to find his way with the directions Danny had given him. There were a few twists and turns around public buildings and aviaries, but Stiles managed. Next to a big “rest” store ad for the upper class, he found the little shop inside one of the main buildings. He could see the construction of the new mall the City Council had planned from the windows, and as he held out his card, he wondered if Scott was working on that now.

The guy asked what speed Internet and what OS Stiles wanted. When he asked no other questions and handed Stiles his number, Stiles was pleasantly surprised, though wary of the guy. These sorts of things often backfired. He took his card back and moved to his assigned unit, uploading his information from the phone, starting up his chat and e-mail and connected to the Argent Security servers.

Kay: **Good to see you.**

Stiles: **You too. Any word on the cash?**

 _Not rude_ , he reminded himself. She’d stiffed him too many times. Patiently waiting for her response, he started his program’s primary function: collecting all the data it could. It wouldn’t be everything in the Argent files, but it’d collect anything hidden or anything vulnerable. Like right now, it pinpointed a couple of murders the Argents had gotten away with. Stiles smiled. Bingo. Blackmail could pay off, at least.

Wait, murders. Murders were serious. And could involve Kay.

Stiles opened up the files immediately, scanning them while only glancing over Kay’s message.

**Unfortunately, I’m still having a hard time convincing our manager that you’re real. You wouldn’t mind coming into the office, would you?**

Given the murders belonged to a bunch of different werewolves and omegas, Stiles thought as he glanced over the files, he really, really would mind. But Kay didn’t need to know. He quickly reminded himself after this he’d have all the time to look over files and contact her.

**It’s difficult, but I think I can manage it. Time and place?**

He ignored her response for a bit as he kept scanning the files- damn. So many illegal drugs, so many humans dumped to the ground, so many thumbs in all their pies, clear statements selling omegas from that damn house, and some high-market-

Hale fire?

Stiles blinked, reading. Someone had investigated arson, as in, “How to burn down a building”, but also had the blueprints to the Hale home, and memos sent out to others as well. Stiles quickly copied those too, deciding to use a different cafe to look up what might be going on. Hale… as in Derek Hale? His parents?

It seemed to inappropriate to send a text to Derek asking about it, but Stiles had plans to look up Derek Hale anyway. Just not quite here, not now. Tomorrow. He tapped his fingers, waiting for the program to finish: lots of things to get, apparently. He picked up his phone.

 **I can visit in about an hour** , he typed, sending it to Scott. Then, thinking about it, he typed out another text to Derek. **When am I moving in with you?** He joked, but then deleted it.

Somehow he wanted that. Derek seemed pretty secure right now, and would keep him safe from all this stuff. Freaking out, he could easily picture Derek by his bedside, or beautifully helping him through his heats. Derek had money and could provide for him, they could have seven or eight kids easily with a nanny, and-

Stiles shook his head. These thoughts were not helpful. Angrily he typed notes into his phone.

  1. He didn’t know Derek. At all.
  2. Derek had shown up to an essentially slaving ring. That did not a good man make.
  3. Rich Guys in Nemeton always ended up drugging and using omegas for everything. It was the unwritten rule. Hell, he had a file full of proof that Argent Communications _assisted_ with that.
  4. This town never gave a fuck about what happened to refugees or omegas; being both meant he was only used for his exoticism.
  5. Good things didn’t happen to Stiles.
  6. Derek was too clingy, too creepy, still texting Stiles with personal questions.
  7. Derek had only _seen_ Stiles.



Yet with the list in place, something inside Stiles _wanted_ Derek, craved Derek. More than anything else, and he’d only met the man. Stiles didn’t feel odd about it, but suspected it had something to do with his biology. Maybe Derek had some new drug he was testing out. Maybe he was tricking Stiles into thinking he was an _Alpha_ , and Stiles’s body was reacting accordingly. At least he could still remain rational, Stiles thought.

This would be a good time as any to look up bond information since nothing else seemed to be making sense. It’d be a good distraction from realizing he’d been hired by murderers.

Into the search bar, he typed into the search engine, “Sudden Omega Attachment”. There were a couple of things, most of them confirming what he already knew: many drugs sent omegas into a needy, mindless heat, and they’d bond themselves to anyone they met during that time.

Bond.

Stiles searched that term. He hadn’t seen it since the day of the explosion, when Harris went all crazy with his short words. Besides, he hadn’t thought there was anything to know about them- that it would just happen and then there’d be a happily ever after. Never had he thought he’d be trying to figure out if his bond was drugged or not.

He read on, some site called, “Victoria’s Werewolf info”. It didn’t look trustworthy, but he wanted information quickly, not accurately. He could get accurate later.

Apparently a long time ago, when Alphas and Omegas were more equal in number, bonds were common between partners. But both parties had to consent, and the bond only started to form after the first mating. Plus, it was easy to break bonds, the site finished with a smile. Okay, that wasn’t what Stiles was looking for. It’d been way more than that, unless Derek-

The exception, the site read, was Alpha werewolves when finding their mates.

Stiles clicked the link, shaking. That sounded… right. An Alpha had many phases during a mating, wanting to provide and protect, usually knowing their mate by smell and chasing them down until the Omega acknowledged them. They’d fight anyone. They were dangerous.

Sounded a bit like Derek. Except for the Alpha werewolf part.

The omega in turn responded by producing more slick, by acknowledging the bond, feeling safe and cared for in the Alpha’s presence. They’d be unusually docile until their first mating, which was good because the Alpha werewolf doesn’t like challenge. After the mating bond was cemented through a heat, though, their personalities would come back to the surface.

Okay. That didn’t sound like Stiles at all; he wasn’t producing more slick, and he wasn’t docile.

Ugh. That was a waste of time.

He picked up his phone. **Why did you follow me yesterday?** He typed and sent. Maybe Derek would answer; maybe he’d give him a clue. After all, if Derek really was an Alpha werewolf, he’d be like Scott, in a dorm of twelve people and barely making ends meet while the bosses used his rapid healing and extreme strength for dangerous construction work.

Stiles checked the time- his program had five minutes left and Kay hadn’t texted him at all. Not suspicious.

Well, since he had a free couple of minutes, Stiles researched more into Alpha werewolves. _Ooh, they have knots_ , Stiles read. That’d be useful for the spank bank when in the midst of his heat, needing something a little simpler for self-love to get through it. He pictured Derek with a knot for a moment, delighting in the idea of it inside him, filling him up-

Ding! His program beeped at him to signal its finish. He made sure everything important, like the murders, were on the phone. With a quick tug, he disconnected, slipping the phone safely into his pocket.

Kay had sent him a couple other messages.

**Stiles? Are you there?**

**Stiles, have you found anything else?**

Stiles shook his head, reading her **time and place; this afternoon, at three?**

Totally suspicious. The hell he would go.

 **Sorry,** Stiles typed back, **There’s a guy here who’s trying to convince me he’s got a sweet knot I’d like to pop on. I’ll happily show up at three instead, though.**

Wink faces never hurt. He sent one of those as well. He paused for a moment, looking at her messages.

How did she know his name? She’d never heard that he was Stiles. Ever. Not even his bank accounts had that name.

Alarm bells started ringing in his head as he looked over his bank transactions. The account she was paying him in wasn’t in his name officially due to omega reasons. She had no reason to know Stiles’s name.

Somehow, Stiles couldn’t help but think Derek had something to do with it.

Christ. Maybe Derek was a hit man after all. Maybe he was full of drugs and that’s how he found Stiles, followed him around while smelling really good, making Stiles’s biology decide he was the one. It was a ruse to tell Kay who he was and Stiles would be killed and-

No. That was silly.

One thing was for certain. Stiles needed to get away from the Argents ASAP. Derek’s mystery would have to be figured out later.

Speak of the devil, Stiles thought as a message popped up. **You looked really pretty.**

Well. That was a lie if Stiles ever read one. Stiles knew exactly how he looked- grubby and dirty, smelling of post-omega heat and shit from living in the dorms. On the train people had glared at him too, so Derek’s excuse was bullshit. Stiles stuffed down the part of himself that begged to trust Derek and checked his phone instead.

Scott hadn’t responded; probably working. Stiles stood up and logged off, heading back to the guy at the front of the cafe. The man smiled and shrugged, not saying much at all. Stiles wondered if he had a voice. “Thanks,” he said, finally, heading out into the small rays of sunlight outside.

There weren’t any direct paths to the mall- at least not according to his phone map. He looked back at Scott’s texts, confirming they would meet up there, and he wandered closer to it, stepping up a flight of stairs to what looked like an abandoned floor. Yet the bridge still had an Argent Door guard, so he figured the public was allowed there. One walking through, someone else exited the opposite building, so yes, this was a public walkway. Just way less trafficked than Stiles had ever seen.

Halfway between the buildings, Stiles caught sight of a makeshift bridge between a window and the mall- it must have been a wolf-built thing, given the lack of handrails. Scott would probably be there. Smiling, he ran his way up the main staircase of the empty building, grinning as he headed to the window. Scott wouldn’t have much time off, but he’d get to see him. That hardly ever happened anymore.

Coming to the window, Stiles stopped.

It wasn’t a bridge at all.

It was a long 2x4, one used in construction. If Stiles wanted to get to Scott, he’d have to cross. Gauging the distance to the ground, Stiles found himself getting dizzy.

A couple men on the other side noticed him, titling their head on a scaffold. One jumped down and called out to him. “You a wolf?” he asked, his eyes flashing. It seemed polite enough, but Stiles knew it was a warning. If he also held the same views as Nemeton did, he wouldn’t be welcome.

“Omega,” Stiles called, hoping for some comradery with another oppressed class. Though it was lost in the wind, the werewolf’s ears perked up, clearly interested. Stiles wished for a moment he could have such good hearing. “I’m supposed to meet with Scott McCall. He working?”

The men on the scaffold relaxed, more coming down while another howled a summon. Stiles relaxed; the wolves wouldn’t summon Scott unless they trusted Stiles. “You’re in luck!” the man called back, adjusting the 2x4 and holding it down. “There was an accident with the propane- Scott’s got plenty of free time now!”

That wasn’t lucky. Wolves couldn’t heal well from burns. Stiles had to get to Scott- he had to get to Scott now, make sure he was alright. He stepped up the window, noting another weary werewolf across the way, one much older than the other men. The guy on the 2x4 mentioned for Stiles to walk on over.

Whelp. Stiles refused to look down, knowing he was up 40 stories or more and not needing another visual confirmation.

Trembling, he took a step onto the board. It remained firm and steady. The guy across held it down, a smile on his face. With a lurch, Stiles lifted himself up on the board, way too high off the ground for his liking. The already thin air seemed thinner.

Some of the werewolves seemed surprised, like they expected Stiles to be carried across. Stiles smirked and took several steady steps forward. He wasn’t a precious delicate omega that needed taking care of. He could do this on his-

He looked downward, at windows disappearing into smog. Quickly he looked back up, focusing on step after step. At the halfway point some of the wolves sniffed the air- trying to confirm if Stiles was an omega, probably. None of them talked or yelled at him, not wanting to distract him, though the wolf waiting for him seemed a tad bit nervous.

After a moment he realized his phone kept beeping, confirming the receipt of a string of messages. He pushed that out of his mind again, moving his limbs out to keep his balance as the wind picked up.

This was not the smartest idea he’d had in a while. Curse him for always impulsively doing things and not thinking things through. There was probably another entrance somewhere. Closing his eyes and drawing in a breath, Stiles attempted to calm himself. When he felt ready, he opened his eyes and took a few more steps forward, closing in on the wolves.

Stiles’s left leg slipped. He pushed himself forwards with his right leg, realizing he was falling and trying to figure out how to make it to the doorway. But his leg trembled and he felt himself fall sideways, air rushing past his ears.

What a way to die, he thought. Not by the Argents, not by Derek’s strange drugs. Falling while trying to get to Scott because he hadn’t thought things through.

Hands tightened around his wrists, jerking him upwards. Stiles sailed, finally hitting someone else’s chest as he scrambled to feel the ground. Safe. He was safe. Someone had rescued him.

“Good catch there, Liam,” one of the scaffolding men replied. “If Scott knew you’d lost his omega, he’d have all our heads.”

“Not Scott’s omega,” Stiles remarked, but his mind turned. These guys probably weren’t bitten wolves, like Scott. They might know more about bonds. “Why? Do I look bonded?”

The old were laughed at him, shaking his head. “I can see the bond starting with you,” he replied easily. “Surprised Alpha McCall is still able to form sentences with a bond that strong.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, but Liam pulled him away. Stiles filed the information for later- perhaps Derek wasn’t all he was made out to be, and the sentences thing _wasn’t_ normal. Maybe there really was a bond somehow. Maybe Derek _was_ supernatural. Or maybe Derek had the drugs to form a bond simulating that of an alpha werewolf and an omega-

Wait. Scott wasn’t an alpha. He said as much to Liam, who shrugged as he led Stiles down past a dusty hallway. “Sometimes it just presents,” he said, shrugging. “At least that’s what that old man says.”

“He know a lot, that old man?” Stiles asked, and Liam shrugged again, taking Stiles down a ladder to an unfinished unit. “You’re not very talkative.”

Liam pointedly looked at Stiles before jumping down the ladder and shrugged. “Sucks having to go the long way,” he finally stated, and Stiles forgot. Werewolves. They probably just bounded from place to place, not needing things like ladders. “He’s in the infirmary. Got a bad burn with the propane last night.”

Stiles swallowed, following Liam to a curtained-off area. As he came closer he heard the call. “Stiles?” Liam opened the curtain just a little. Immediately Stiles reeled at the smell- charred flesh, antiseptic, blood- all things that made his instincts want to run. Instead he focused his eyes beyond, knowing Scott was one of them.

Wolves were missing fingers, missing arms, some burned- And just as Stiles slid to look at the other side of the room, Scott bounded up, eyes red but tired, arm half burned. He smelled like antiseptic and drugs, probably helping the other wolves heal. “Hey, Stiles,” he said meekly, and Stiles pulled him into a hug.

“You’re an alpha now?” Stiles asked, and Scott laughed. “Last night, apparently. I pushed some guys out of the way, then paid for a few to get to the hospital,” he continued. “They set up shop here, didn’t want us around.” Sheepishly he cast his eyes to the ground while Stiles looked at all the rented, second-hand equipment. Biting back the scolding he wanted to give Scott, Stiles closed his eyes. _Scott_ needed that money. The money could have gone to a dorm. Could have gone to a real place, but instead here was Scott, spending all that cash on _other_ people. Scott took a sniff. “You’ve gone through another heat, huh?” he asked. “And you look all shiny and stuff,” he added.

“Apparently,” stiles replied. “Caught the eye of some new guy dealing in omega drugs. Wants to see if they can get Omegas to come willingly to rich people houses.”

Scott titled his head. “Like a-“

Someone cried out in pain. In a flash Scott was at their side, taking their pain. Stiles moved next to him. Even if Scott couldn’t talk, focused on pain-sucking, Stiles would help. Being together was enough, even if it was only little bits. Next to Scott Stiles tried to send out a scent of comfort and healing. It took a little while, Stiles’s body still tired from the heat, but he knew it was working when Liam sniffed the air and his eyes stopped glowing.

“Thanks, bro,” Scott murmured. Well, if Scott risked his life and Stiles’s money keeping these people alive, the least Stiles could do was help. They were brothers.

 

***

 

After Scott could drain no more pain, and Stiles could pump out no more scent, they both collapsed with a bottle of water in each hand somewhere off to the side. Stiles finished his summary of the Derek character, leaving out what he’d discovered of the Argents. Stiles might have been impulsive, but Scott was impulsive _and_ headstrong. If he thought they had murdered wolves, Scott would go after them and try to bring them to justice. Not that justice was wrong, but Stiles knew Scott would play fair, and the Argents wouldn’t.

Best to leave that out.

“Do you really think Derek’s not a wolf?” Scott asked curiously. “He seems to act like one.”

“Unlikely Scott. Is he here?” Stiles asked, waving around at the wounded wolves.

Scott shook his head. “But what if he’s hidden? Or what if they’ve been around so long, it’s like a public secret? We had plenty of those in Beacon Hills.” He frowned.

“Doubtful,” Stiles remarked, but the idea felt a lot more favorable to him than others. “I’ll admit he could be something. He’s a weirdo who can’t speak in full sentences.” That would prove his point- Derek wasn’t a-

If anything, Scott looked even more enthusiastic at Stiles’s declaration. “Dude! I go through that sometimes! Sometimes if the wolf is close, I have trouble speaking in sentences.” He smiled. “And this guy didn’t want you to freak, so he said he saw you instead of smelled you. If you’re already bonded, he’s probably trying his best to keep himself away, trying his best to not freak you out.” He held a big grin. “Stiles, this is _great_! You’ve met your mate! And you and he are gonna bond and have amazing heat sex and have twenty children-“

Stiles held up a hand. “Wait. Two things. First, while I’m not opposed to any of that, he’s a drug dealing rich maniac trying to drug me,” Stiles replied, trying to remind himself that good things didn’t happen to him. “Second, twenty? Scott, do I look like I can birth twenty kids?”

Scott looked him over. “Totally dude.”

Huh. He swallowed some more water, thinking about being round with kids. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but it wasn’t enticing to him right now, either. “Not the point,” Stiles snapped. “So not the point. The point is I think he’s out to kill me, Scott, and-“

A finger pressed against his lips, Scott looking up, head tilted. Stiles licked the finger out of frustration, but he understood. Werewolf hearing. “Liam,” Scott hissed. “Says the bosses are coming.”

Shit. “Well, that’s fuckin’ great,” Stiles hissed. “Seeing as I have to get out of here, like, now, and risk falling into the great shit piles below.”

“You can’t smell the piles,” Scott whined, but snapped his head up. “Apparently they’ve got people willing to help you. Just go back the way you came, you’ll be fine. Hurry,” Scott added, pushing Stiles. Stiles sighed. Wolf hearing.

“Alright, Alright. I get it.” He pulled back the curtain. “And Scott?” He waited until Scott looked back at him, eyes hopeful. Scott looked up, hopeful. “It was great to see you, buddy.”

Scott beamed. “You too, Stiles.”

 

***

 

Stiles hauled himself up the last thing, arriving on the correct floor. He followed footprints towards the window, noting dust had rolled through. He stopped when he noted the crowd in the hall. Even the old man had come inside.

“Son,” the man stated. “Son.” He pushed Stiles forward and nearly out the window, despite Stiles’s pleas and protests. Suddenly it made sense why there was a nervous crowd.

Across the way, in the other building, stood Derek Hale with his eyes flaring red. Derek didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, just stared angrily at the wolves who suddenly backed away from Stiles. “He’s an alpha?” Stiles asked, hands trembling. Supernatural indeed- Derek was a _werewolf_. Damn it, Scott was _right_.

“He’s _the_ alpha,” the old man replied. “Got the city to take in all us wolves when they wanted to reject us.” The old man breathed, probably hearing something. “He’s calling you.”

Stiles could feel it. Deep in his gut, in his soul, he _knew_ Derek wanted him over there. Derek was demanding that he come over there. Stiles swallowed. Maybe this thing wasn’t such a farce after all. Maybe Scott had been right the entire time and their bond was the genuine thing. Not that Stiles would ever tell Scott, that, of course.

“Why is he angry?” Stiles inquired to the crowd, looking back and noticing not one of them was within Derek’s sight.

The old man came forward, his hands up in supplication. For a moment Stiles wondered where the pleading was aimed until he noted the old man staring back at Derek. Derek looked like he might take the old man’s life right there. Something tightened in his chest, like a wave from Derek’s anger. “You were with another alpha,” the old man said softly. “Son, don’t you _know_ any of this?”

Stiles shook his head. “Clearly I didn’t pay enough attention in school,” he breathed. Maybe it wasn’t drugs. Maybe they really were bonded, some fucked-up bond that only affected one of them.

“Move before he kills us,” someone else snapped. “Nothing gets between a new-bond!”

Stiles tried to move. He really did. But Derek looked like angry death and Stiles needed to regain feeling between his legs before he could even attempt at crossing. Instead Stiles made some sort of whimpering fear sound that made all the wolves back up even more.

“Not us, it’s not us,” someone pleaded behind him, still moving backwards.

Stiles tried to step forward again, shakily putting forth a leg. He could do it this time. He could.

The board wobbled, and Stiles looked up helplessly at Derek. Surely they could find a different way, one-

Oh.

Derek took a step out and began walking on the board, no fear of falling forty stories to his death. The wolves fled the scene, hiding in the corridors while Stiles dumbly watched Derek cross. Derek made his way to Stiles, step by steady step, never tripping, never faltering, never looking down. He only stopped when he stepped down in front of Stiles, eyes still focused on him.

“Please don’t kill me,” Stiles whimpered as Derek lurched forward. He clenched his eyes shut and put his hands in front of his face before Derek grunted. “Don’t move,” he commanded in that Alpha voice, and Stiles obeyed, frozen.

Derek picked him up, carrying him against his chest like a toddler, and Stiles broke the command to put his arms around Derek’s neck, face in Derek’s shoulder. Oh God. No way Derek could keep his balance with the two of them. No way Derek would ever be able to, to-

Derek turned around and took a step forward.

Stiles kept his eyes shut tight as Derek’s body moved against him, Derek’s breathing rapid and hands tight against his ass, but not in the sexy way, and oh god, being above ground _again_ was not the time to have sexy thoughts, nope, no-

Derek lurched a little, and Stiles tightened his grip, whimpering. Nothing could convince him to look down. He wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, trying to press himself onto the Alpha as much as he could, trying to focus on muscled stomachs rather than a fall.

Downward. Stiles knew he was falling downward. Derek cradled him, body moving and-

Ground.

He was on the ground. Derek pulled back a little, looking into Stiles’s eyes. “That was intense,” Stiles commented. “Let’s do that again never.” For once he met Derek’s eyes, looking for affirmation. Instead, Derek’s face was in beta shift, his eyes still red, glaring at Stiles. “Mine,” he snapped.

Shaking, Stiles nodded, fixated on Derek’s glowing eyes. He could practically _feel_ Derek’s possession, how much Derek worried, how he wanted to claim. Maybe… maybe they had a real bond after all.

Derek nodded back at him, eyes still red as he stood up. “Mine,” he replied, wolf close to the surface, just like Scott had warned him about. Stiles could see that now. Derek looked like he was keeping himself from pouncing, looked like he was restraining himself.

Somehow the bond inside him sang, his instincts getting the better of him. Wasn’t it secure to have such a mate that provided? That could rescue him? Wasn’t Derek a strong, capable mate?

Twenty kids, Scott had said. Derek looked capable of giving Stiles two hundred.

Swallowing, Stiles tilted his neck in submission, gasping as Derek dove on top of him, nuzzling against his neck.

 _At least for now_ , he argued against his instincts’ insistence on forever. _Until we figure this out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I came home from China and finished up grad school applications. Next chapter up next week!
> 
>  
> 
> Also: This fic will eventually have an explicit rating, but I won't change that until the chapter is uploaded.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Throughout the day Stiles had been convinced Derek was some sort of drug dealer. Yet when Derek covered him, all Stiles could think about was how much he wanted to kiss the very nicely shaped man. That’s how broken his brain was: Derek was not rich, not an alpha, or not sexy, just nicely-shaped.

Plus he smelled fantastic, though also a little like rage. And dominance.

Stiles really, really hated his instincts in that moment, fighting to stay logical and rational. He took a few breaths, finally pushing Derek away. Derek growled for a moment before very slowly and tediously pulling himself off Stiles. For a moment, something flickered inside Stiles- a simple emotion that did not in anyway belong to him: Derek fought his instincts so as to not scare Stiles and to show Stiles respect.

Unable to focus on this feeling and how it affected his own instincts ( _How considerate_ , his mind whispered, _Look at how he thinks of you, puts you first_ ) Stiles resorted to snarky behaviors. “You didn’t want to mention you were an alpha?” he accused, eyebrows raised. When Derek glared at him with Alpha-red eyes, Stiles attempted to match the glare, hoping it was challenging and not betraying how much he wanted to keep Derek pressed on top of him.

But Stiles wasn’t slick, either, and didn’t meeting his mate or whatever mean that he’d go into heat? Heat wasn’t a factor right now. He didn’t feel any of the symptoms. Instead, weariness crept into every fiber of his being. Seeing Scott all marked up and knowing Scott could b hurt, the plank thing, Kay’s blatant attempt at trying to corner him at her work and not paying him, his post-heat exhaustion- Stiles needed to recharge. This heat/bond thing was something to worry about later.

Instead he was here, acting on fear and adrenaline and instinct, arching his neck just a little more in case Derek did not realize he needed to be there. Now. Even if Stiles had pushed him away thirty seconds before. Stiles blamed exhaustion for the mood swings.

“I… I didn’t…” Derek swallowed, staring at Stiles’s neck.

Stiles scrunched his eyes, trying to weigh in on a bad decision. He wanted. He didn’t want.

“You… smell…too much…. like stress,” Derek said, squatting down to get at eye level. “I don’t want to… force you. Into anything,” he added. His words were short, clipped. Like Scott had suggested, perhaps his wolf was close to the surface.

When Stiles fully understood the words, he blinked, confused. Derek was apparently not only the richest man in Nemeton, but also responsible for getting werewolves jobs, albeit shitty ones. Why wouldn’t he force Stiles with him? He could just snap his fingers and-

Derek took his hand, trying to calm Stiles down. He could probably smell the stress. “Stiles,” he said quietly, trying to calm him down. His eyes had turned back, too, wolf probably away from the surface. “Stiles. You’re tired.”

“You could just take me home with you, and no one would bat an eye,” Stiles snapped, looking up at Derek. “You’re not. Instead you’ve put me down while a bunch of werewolves are watching from across the way.” He motioned to the crowd that was still there, watching.

Derek rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Not private here,” he whined.

Stiles could understand that, at least. More out of curiosity than pity, he changed the topic. “Alright,” Stiles agreed, the bond giving him a stupid sense of contentment and relief. Stupid bond. At least he didn’t feel so stressed, more in control of himself. “How did you find me?” he asked.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I…” he paused, unable to answer. He looked away and Stiles reached into his phone, seeing a couple of unread texts from Derek.

**What are you doing, Stiles? That is unsafe**

**Stiles get off that plank**

**Stiles that is not appropriate**

**Don’t fall- calm down**

**Stay there, I’m coming**

**Stiles get away from those wolves**

**Stiles they are marking you with their scent**

**This is unacceptable**

Those were a lot of words. A lot more than Derek had ever spoken to him, and yet he could easily read the emotion through them. Derek worried over him, fussed over him like a mother hen. When he searched Derek’s face for those same emotions, Derek remained stoic and blank, but his hands were shaking. Posturing, Stiles realized. Derek tried to make himself seem a strong Alpha. Or Derek really had issues with expressing his emotions.

“Aw, you’re concerned for me,” Stiles teased, also noting how… overbearing this was. While the omega part of him was pleased, the other part was still upset that Derek spied on him constantly through cameras Stiles had never known existed. He slipped the phone back in his pocket, adrenaline sputtering out now that his brain had declared Derek not a threat. If there were drugs involved to simulate the bond, Derek couldn’t control himself enough to take advantage of the situation. If there weren’t any drugs, well, Derek wouldn’t harm Stiles. Win-win right now.

Derek remained impassive. “I… You’re my omega,” he finally forced out. “I’m always… concerned about you.” He breathed in, calming himself, reaching to grab Stiles’s hand. Stiles felt sleep crawl over him, body assured that he was safe. “Stiles?” Derek asked, picking Stiles up, cradling him like a giant toddler.

“Sleepy,” Stiles murmured into Derek’s neck, arms wrapping around it again. “So tired, Derek.” He should fight this. Everything about him screamed to fight this. Everything except this fluttering feeling in his chest, something warm and tinted with-

Suspicion? Derek felt suspicious?

“There’s a small Lounge nearby,” Derek revealed cautiously.

Stiles snorted, just a little one. “Good. Wasn’t suggesting you take me back to your house, Hale.”

Oddly, Derek relaxed at that. “Well then. Sleep. I’ll get us a room then.” Stiles phone buzzed, but he ignored it, vaguely aware of Derek carrying him through the walkways. Though sounds and conversations reached him, Stiles let those flow over him. Sleep was far more important.

 

***

 

When Stiles awoke, Derek had a very dark look on his face. “You’re awake?” he asked, voice clipped. Angry. Derek was angry.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me sleep,” he muttered, looking for his phone. There wasn’t much to see in the dark room. Derek, the blinking light of his phone in Derek’s hand, and- wait. Derek held his phone tightly.

“Dude. You took my phone?” Stiles asked, hoping the information was still here. Had Derek gone through his phone?

Derek glared at him. “It kept beeping.” There was something else in his voice, something hidden and like steel. Stiles snatched back his phone, looking for any messages from Scott. Instead, Kay had contacted him, a quick, **You coming?** Stiles deleted the text. “You’re one of _them_ ,” Derek hissed, suddenly.

Stiles looked up, confused. “What?”

“They filled you full of drugs. Got you to get close to _me_ , huh?” Derek growled, stomping closer to the bed. His eyes glowed red like they had at the other wolves before.

Why the sudden change? Stiles felt his instincts flare up, unsure of what he’d done. Maybe they were drugs or- Didn’t Derek just say drugs? Did he think _Stiles_ took the drugs? What the hell?

“Stop,” Stiles snapped, looking around the room. “You’re a wolf, right? You can hear my heartbeat?” When Derek snarled, Stiles continued. “You can feel through the bond, too, if I’m lying, right? Simulated bond or not?” He kept breathing, trying to keep calm.

Derek’s face sprouted fangs. “You _have_ taken drugs-“

“I have not!” Stiles snapped. “You’re the drugged one, acting all weird!” Stiles realized Derek was blocking him from the door. If he wanted to run, he would have to outrun a werewolf. At least Derek’s fangs had retreated. “Look, I’m tired because two days ago, I finished my heat, I found out the woman I work for is behind a bunch of murders and wants to kill me too, I’m not getting paid, and oh, yeah, I’m being followed by a guy who, given how I’m not going into heat upon seeing him, is probably using drugs himself!” Stiles took in a breath. His hands were shaking, ready to fight if he needed to.

As Stiles calmed down, Derek’s anger faded as well. No longer posturing, Derek leaned forward with a hint of concern in his body language. “Woman you work for?” There were no more questions.

Stiles sighed, palming his forehead. Derek did this for a living, he remembered. Derek was a lawyer. Of course he would want to know _everything_ before putting the pieces together. “Argent Corporation. They hired me to look into their code. I found a lot more,” he said softly, looking at Derek. “I was hoping to use it to do… stuff,” he finished lamely, remembering Derek’s legal status. “Random stuff. Lotsa stuff. But…” He swallowed. “I just took data and ran.”

The words had certainly calmed Derek, but still suspicion lingered. Stiles sighed. “Look, the day we met? Yesterday? That’s the day I found the data. So you show up and make me question myself, then I find the Argents have broken explosion code, been behind a bunch of omega druggings, _plus murders_ , and I assumed…” He paused at Derek’s reaction.

Derek’s eyes were glowing red, his hands in claws, though he pointed did not look at Stiles.

“I thought you might have been one of their agents, wearing a new drug.” Stiles finished softly, knowing Derek could hear his heartbeat. Derek seemed angry at the _news_ , but not at Stiles. “Until the wolves reacted, that is.” He paused, uncomfortable. “Then it became pretty clear you’re an alpha.” He stopped, looking again at Derek. “A good alpha,” he added, just in case.

None of Derek’s anger was directed at him, Stiles realized he knew. Derek angered; Derek didn’t blame Stiles for any of it. How did Stiles know this? How did-

“How?” Derek asked tightly.

It took Stiles a moment before guessing Derek meant the wolves. “They shifted and their eyes-“

“How did you find that information?” Derek interrupted curtly, turning back to make eye contact.

Stiles shrugged. “I worked as a programmer,” he said, “back in Beacon Hills. Some woman, Kay, hired me to run some scans, but when they wouldn’t pay me, my program…” he shrugged. “It doesn’t just check for vulnerabilities. It scans and copies all encrypted or personal files.”

Derek stared at him. “You mean you committed corporate espionage while working for the Argents at an internet cafe?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was impressed or unimpressed. Maybe both at the same time.

What a conundrum he’d put Derek in. “Sure,” he agreed. “Except they were given the details of the program ahead of time, they knew what I could access. I just grabbed the important stuff in case they didn’t pay.”

Clenching his fist, Derek attempted to calm down. “And you were going to blackmail them?” he asked. “Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged defensively. “Look, man, not a lot of options here, okay? Nobody hires omegas. Nobody. We’re only good for fucking and looking pretty. Nobody wants the refugees, either. They want to keep bloodlines ‘pure’. We’re holed up in a room and forced to have jobs but we aren’t given hours, and we’re not supposed to get paying jobs on the side or they’ll throw us out. There’s no place to go for us, Derek. There’s nothing, so when you’ve got nothing, you lose nothing.”

The room was silent for a moment as Derek took in Stiles’s words. Then, no longer boxing Stiles in, Derek moved to sit on the edge of the bed. The door was within reach, so Stiles used this time to take in the rest of the room. The bed had sheets. Nice, but probably very basic for Derek. Stiles rejoiced in being in a clean room. And Derek-

Derek. Derek sighed. “My mother was an omega,” Derek admitted softly, and Stiles looked up, surprised.

That might explain a lot of things, but Stiles shrugged. “I can’t hear if you’re lying or not, dude,” he replied, but it would explain why Derek was so intent on treating him correctly. And it might explain why-

Hand. Hands touching. Derek had his hand over Stiles’s hand, gently touching and wrapping his large hand around Stiles’s longer hand and hands. Touching. Hands.

Stiles would never admit he blushed at the contact, or that his brain shorted out at that moment. Never.

“You’ll feel it through the bond,” Derek responded fondly. He squeezed Stiles’s hand a little. “I know I come off strongly,” Derek acknowledged. “My mother would yell at me for hours about being a crazy, hormone-driven Alpha, so I’ll try to take it slow. I will,” he promised. “And I know I won’t have the most free time, and that I’m tired from work,” Derek replied almost too earnestly. “But I’ll try and be there. If you need me, I’ll be there,” he insisted.

Stiles swallowed. “Thanks,” he said softly. Then they sat in silence, listening to the other breathe. Derek’s pulse raced above Stiles’s fingertips. Finally, Stiles spoke. “And for earlier today.” He scooted a little closer to Derek, knowing Derek was trying to stay calm and composed.

“I thought…” Derek breathed. “I’m currently piecing together a case against the Argents,” he said calmly, but Stiles somehow knew he was anything but. Somehow Stiles also knew that the forthcoming information normally stayed close to Derek’s chest. “And you showed up right when we’re trying to secure the final pieces of information.”

So that was why Derek had been so angry. Alphas would be easy to tease with an omega. Especially since all omegas now were tied to the Argents, Stiles looked doubly suspicious. “That’s why you were asking me about the others,” Stiles realized, remembering Derek’s questions.

Derek remained silent, but through the bond, Stiles could feel affirmation. Blackmail nothing. Derek wasn’t drugged. Stiles wasn’t drugged. They were both awkwardly trying to understand a bond that clearly hadn’t completely formed for whatever reason, both of them deep in their jobs, not wanting a bond right now.

Stiles took in a breath. “There’s a blueprint,” he began, freeing his hand from Derek’s grip to undo the back of his phone. “Of your house. Your old house,” he added, taking the sim card out. Derek tensed but turned to look at him. Stiles slipped the sim card out. “A woman- Kate Argent kept journals. Kept search records. Like trophies, I guess.” Stiles looked at Derek, slipping the sim card into his hand. “I’m trusting you, Derek,” he breathed. “I’m trusting you with everything here.”

Slowly, Derek’s fingers wrapped around the card, placing it into his own phone. Trust. Stiles hoped to find anything in his eyes, and Derek explained more of himself. “We were known wolves. Not a big thing to most people in the city, but the Argents always hated and feared us.” Something else remained hidden, painful, and Stiles let it slide, taking in what Derek told him now. “After the fire, which couldn’t be proven to be arson, I worked hard then to keep my company strong. I brought down corrupt corporations to gain public approval and to keep us financially sound. On the side I was looking into these Argent-linked drugs, I was looking into why omegas were disappearing, and why Beacon Hills suddenly went up in flames like my family had.”

Stiles looked up, surprised. Nobody knew what happened to Beacon Hills. Nor had anyone seemed interested.

“The argents had some ties there, some security systems. I think they were involved,” Derek answered. “I’d been planning to move there for a while, but the day it burned I received a message that said, ‘No Escape’.” He swallowed. “Then refugees became an issue- the drugs involved all seemed to come from well-funded sources, and the Argents had huge influxes of money they can’t explain. I hadn’t thought they were tied until…”

Stiles paused. “They’re using us as a commodity,” he pieced together. “Maybe flush out the Beacon Hills Omegas, have them under a company, and sell them.”

Derek nodded. “I think that’s their angle, but I don’t have any proof. Stiles, if you have what you’ve said…” Derek breathed. “It would seal a good part the case.”

Stiles leaned closer. “Would it help explain what happened to Beacon Hills?” he asked.

“I have suspicions they’re linked,” Derek affirmed. “Plus, plea bargains might pull that information out if research can’t.” He smiled at Stiles. “Thank you.” Stiles didn’t say much in response. The Argents behind Beacon Hills? That… that fit, actually. That made a lot of sense, and-

Oh. _Oh._ Derek wanted to kiss him. Stiles couldn’t tell how he knew, he wasn’t even looking at Derek, but he knew. Slowly he turned and felt the warm rush of Derek’s breath on his cheek. “Maybe not yet?” Stiles asked, suddenly overwhelmed by _how much_ he wanted to kiss Derek. “I mean, we’re still suspicious of each other, yeah?”

Disappointment. From both of them. “Yeah,” Derek agreed, turning his face away. “I get it.” He seemed upset, but calm. Considerate. Derek tried to keep in mind Stiles was human. Stiles didn’t feel the same way an Alpha werewolf did. It strangely endeared Derek to Stiles.

Bing. Bing. Bing.

Both startled at Derek’s phone.

Beep. Beep.

Stiles’s emergency notification app also rang out. “Hello?” Derek answered, while Stiles picked up his phone. Afternoon **Train 57 derailed in explosion. All cars fallen.**

Train 57. That- Stiles swallowed. That was _his_ normal train. All those people, falling so far- none of them would have survived. None. And the damage to other buildings was incredible as well. “What’s the time?” he asked shakily, but Derek was too busy talking to hear him.

He looked through the news, but no answers as to how or why yet. Derek’s face looked even more panicked. “How?” he asked, suddenly reaching over to Stiles’s arm and squeezing it, assuring himself Stiles was there. Unease radiated off the alpha in waves, so Stiles reached over and petted Derek’s hand, letting his hand fall on top of Derek’s. _I’m here_ , he tried to say with his words. _I’m safe_.

“All right. Let’s look into it,” Derek agreed. “I’ll be in the office soon.” He shut off his phone, turning to Stiles. “4:50 now,” he confirmed, revealing he had heard Stiles. Instead of rejoicing at not being ignored, Stiles felt cold inside. “The train went down at four. Apparently Argent’s security systems overheated and blew the train out of the sky.”

The exact glitch Stiles had found. It wasn’t a glitch at all. It was _coded_ in. “I was supposed to be on that train.” He looked away from Derek, the intense gaze a little too much. “I’ve been doing work for the Argents- looking into their security. But recently they’ve gotten shifty, and I haven’t been paid. They wanted me to visit today, and when I didn’t…”

“The train blows up,” Derek finishes. “You’re sure it’s not coincidence?”

Stiles could hear the disbelief in his voice, shaking his head. “The way the train exploded, the overloading, that’s _exactly_ what I was researching. I’d told them about the weaknesses before, so they’d have had plenty of time to fix it.” He breathed in, fighting panic.

A soothing hand pressed against his back. It wasn’t just the relief of human contact. It was also the presence of an Alpha, trying to comfort him and keep him calm. Stiles felt _cared for_ , even if it was just an illusion. And Derek would wrap him up, keep him safe, and never let him out, and-

Wait.

“You could come back to my place,” Derek suggested very quietly.

Oh no. Not if Derek was- The sim card. Stiles had given over his card. He backed away, panicked. Derek was an alpha sure, but maybe he wasn’t _Stiles’s_ alpha. Especially when considering Stiles’s lack of heat presentation. Derek growled. “You’ll be safe there,” he attested, waving his arms. “They won’t-“

“Yeah, and if you’re not safe?” Stiles spat out, watching as Derek recoiled. Knowing Derek was listening now, he continued. “You could be on Kay’s payroll-“

“Kate,” Derek interrupted. “Her name is Kate Argent. That’s her pseudonym.” He held out his phone, a picture of a blonde security lady Stiles somehow knew. But the name- the name was familiar enough. Kate Argent.

Oh fuck, Stiles was really dead now. “I’ve seen her record,” Stiles confirmed. “She came up enough in the information.” He wished he had the copy now.

Derek shook his head. “She… I…” Derek closed his mouth. “Tomorrow,” he decided. “Let’s test our bond. Since we both think it’s drugs,” he admitted.

Stiles raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but the idea was enticing. Neither of them trusted the other, and if there were a way to test the bond without drugs, it’d be worth hearing. Derek breathed. “Find me. Without your phone.” Before Stiles could protest, Derek held up a hand. “Supposedly, prebonded mates can find each other through long distances. I’ll wait for you in a public place, and you find me. If it works, it’s real. If it doesn’t, you can use your phone to go home, and-“ Derek handed him another cash card. “You can use this to pay for your return journey. And get yourself out of that Omega House.” He swallowed.

“Why don’t you find me?” Stiles asked, before realizing how dumb that was. Derek already knew where Stiles _traveled_. He knew where Stiles lived. Finding Stiles would be child’s play, but Stiles finding Derek would be much more difficult.

“I already know where you are,” Derek answered. “And I can sense what you’re feeling, even if we’re far away. That’s how I knew to look for you when you crossed the wood.”

That sounded a lot like a bond forming on Derek’s side. “Oh,” he said, his mind whirling fruitlessly. Too many things had happened today. Scott and Kay, Kate and- “It sounds like a great idea.” He took a breath in. “Yeah. Let’s do that. I’ll text you when I start, and I won’t text again.” It provable plan, and that made it good.

Derek nodded. “Agreed.” He pointed at the news article. “We should send you home. Would you-“ he breathed in, his eyes flaring red. Now, Stiles could nearly _feel_ how much this went against Derek’s instincts. “Take a company train?” Derek didn’t want Stiles to leave. He wanted to take Stiles home, keep him safe. Stiles wanted to be kept safe, yet knew this was the better choice. Being away from Derek, testing their bond, proving it wasn’t drugs, that was the safest choice. The sooner he could do that, the sooner he could have extra protection from the Argents.

They wouldn’t suspect Stiles on a Hale train, either. “Would you… go with me?” Stiles asked suddenly nervous.

“No,” Derek replied. “They’d see my photo with you as you get off the train. I’ll say goodbye, though,” he suggested, and Stiles’s heart leapt at that suggestion. Even though Stiles did not want it to.

This bond of theirs was dangerous. He swallowed and Derek stood up. “Let’s get you back home,” he suggested, and Stiles took his hand and squeezed. The way Derek beamed at him made Stiles’s heart happy as well, like it was radiating from Derek to him.

“Come on,” Derek encouraged. Together they left the room. Stiles followed Derek blindly out to the main hallway, not far from where he’d slipped away earlier to get to the construction site. Lights up ahead lit the now dark path. The sun probably set while Stiles was sleeping earlier.

As they slipped through an Argent security door, Stiles let his hand slip from Derek’s. What was he doing? Derek still had his sim. Derek wanted to put Stiles on _his_ train. And Stiles….

Stiles wanted to let him. Stiles wanted to be safe for a little bit. Even if Derek had no reason whatsoever to help an immigrant other than for bonding, Stiles could pretend right now. It would work out, Stiles breathed to himself. They’d test the bond and they’d figure this thing out. If anything, Derek’s suspicion relived Stiles. Derek wouldn’t be acting so suspicious or angry if he worked for the Argents. Nor would he tell Stiles a name, _Kate Argent_ , to look up later. Plus, all the werewolves really liked this guy. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to help omegas in the same way he could help Alphas.

Yeah. He could trust Derek. Tentatively, at least.

“What are you thinking about?” Derek asked as he led Stiles down a hallway. Instead of suspicion, his face seemed fond and soft.

Stiles smiled back at him. “Not a lot of opportunity to meet anyone at the House,” he admitted. “And suddenly here I am, with this really attractive guy, and he might be my bondmate.”

Derek only nodded his agreement, as if he also didn’t meet many other people. “Dated once,” Derek revealed. Derek swiped his ID and the great glass doors opened, and he held them open for Stiles. Stiles looked up- they were pretty far down at night and yet it didn’t seem dark at all here. Weird. He had never been down this place. It must have only been used for the Hale Company.

Oh. Derek was still talking. “We parted under… terrible circumstances.” Derek watched as Stiles touched the walkway- it moved. It moved them. He looked up at Derek, surprised-. They didn’t even have these things in Beacon Hills. Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles’s probably obviously uncomfortable scent. Trying to change topics gracefully, Stiles pointed to the moving walkway.

“Won’t these things eat you?” Stiles asked, picturing horror stories. “Like, won’t they-“ he paused as the walkway slowed to a stop, right at their destination. “Trippy.”

Derek almost smiled, looking at him… fondly. “They slow down,” he said after the fact, and Stiles huffed. He knew that, okay? It couldn’t be more obvious. He huffed again and pretended he didn’t notice, realizing even above them was a sort of glass to protect them from anything falling above. “Is this the tunnel you rich people always use to get to the station?” he asked.

Derek laughed. “No. It’s for my company only,” Derek replied. “It’ll get us to a company station.” They continued walking in much more seclusion than on the normal crowded walkways, Stiles acutely aware of Derek’s steps. Occasionally, when someone passed them and nodded, Derek smiled but stepped in front of Stiles. Though it was textbook Alpha posturing, Stiles appreciated it right now. And maybe Derek couldn’t help himself.

They reached the station, filled with a few different company people to make Stiles feel relieved. There were too many for Derek to order around, discrediting his “Derek traps you via train” theory. “It stops a building or two away from your normal station stop,” Derek admitted. “Farther, but I have a feeling you’ll know how to get home. You’re clever.”

They walked down to the platform, stopping in front of a car that read, “General Seating- Leaving in 5 minutes.” “Two buildings is hardly worth calling me clever for,” Stiles replied, smothering the fluttering warmth in his chest. “But yes, I’ll be fine. Derek,” he finished, drawing out Derek’s name. When Derek’s eyes flashed Alpha red, Stiles laughed.

Derek touched his arm, careful not to grab. “Clever. You’ve managed to hack into a major company. You’ve found pieces of information prosecutors are dying to know. You’ve given me a link to the Beacon Hills fire. And,” he finished, “You’ve been able to support not just yourself, but someone else, too. Otherwise you’d have taken my money and run the moment I gave it to you.”

The words pierced deep inside Stiles, releasing feelings Stiles had attempted to keep frozen. Derek understood. Derek _knew_ what Stiles could do. Derek _knew_ Stiles wasn’t just clever, but selfless, too. And he didn’t care to know who Stiles was supporting, just that Stiles supported someone.

Stiles remained frozen as Derek’s head rested on his shoulder and his mouth pressed against his neck. From Scott, Stiles knew this was a scenting thing. But with Derek’s words, it felt more intimate than with his friend. Stiles could feel Derek’s affection and Stiles wanted to be treasured, to be praised just like Derek had done- offhandedly, without patronization.

Stiles opened his lips and brushed Derek’s cheek, stubble scraping just a little. Love or affection or dumb choices caused by stress- none of these reasons mattered to Stiles right now. The only thing he wanted to do was show affection, and he did.

Derek responded. Stubble scraped against Stiles until rough lips pressed against his own. Stiles closed his eyes, letting himself _feel._

This was all stupid; stupid ideas and a turn of stupid fate that just seemed to be lining up. Stiles pushed away those thoughts for now- he could enjoy being kissed by Derek Hale. Derek was a great kisser, and tasted pleasant. Stiles pushed inside Derek’s mouth, wanting to taste more of him. And Derek let him, patient, calm, welcoming. He accepted Stiles and Stiles kissed back, ignoring the glaring flaws in their mating destinies: their disparity of income, their different classes, their lack of trust in each other. He pushed it all to the back of his mind for now and just accepted the moment, just in case the Argents killed him on the trip home.

He remembered reading something about slick, his body producing slick in the presence of his Alpha, but that wasn’t happening tonight. He whined as he thought about it, but saved it along with the other things to think about for later- he’d do Derek’s test first. It’d make the most sense. Derek pulled away. “I should let you board.”

Suddenly he felt weary. “What is this, Derek?” he asked softly, leaning into the Alpha’s embrace. “Is this some fairytale where you’re my prince and you sweep me off my feet?”

“It’s a story about revenge,” Derek replied, voice steely but soft. “Where we’ve met maybe a little too soon, but we’ve met the other, and we’re going to get back at the people who’ve wronged us.” He paused. “Mates and justice?” he offered.

“That’s a dumb concept for a story,” Stiles remarked. “But we’ve both got the tragic backstory, I guess.” He reached for Derek’s neck and pulled him in for one last kiss before they had to part. When they did part, Derek watched Stiles with hopeful eyes as the doors slid closed between them. Stiles pressed his hand against the window, a sort of wave goodbye.

Mates. Justice. Stiles watched Derek fade away as the train left the platform, carrying the same hope in his heart.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dubcon during this chapter- see below for details/spoilers.

 

Stiles got off the train hating his instincts. He hated how his heard kept switching from unshakable trust to suspicion at any moment. He hated being logical and rational. He hated depending on his instincts. It was too much at times, and his mind kept skipping and didn’t want to focus. But for something this big he’d figure it out. Waiting gave them time, and though time was limited, they both needed it to figure out their next step. And if the Argents got too serious, Stiles remembered, breathing in as others rushed past him, he could run back to Derek and they’d figure their mates thing later. Even if that scenario meant Stiles was locked away for a while or something.

Uncertain of where to go, Stiles followed the workers up the stairs to a common area. This place was clean and sheltered. Vending machines and carts popped up selling energy drinks and foods for those with money. Stiles hadn’t seen anything like it since Beacon Hills, when his dad would buy him ice cream for any as he had in high school.

Stiles smiled, walking over to a candy vendor. Using Derek’s card to pay, he bought one of the popsicles his father loved. It’d been more than 8 years since he’d seen his Dad. He wondered what the sheriff would have thought of Stiles now, or their situation, though the sheriff wouldn’t have been proud of the blackmail or the other shady jobs Stiles acquired in the past.

He ran his lips over the cold, hoping they might shrink his lips. He could still feel Derek’s mouth on his, feel hands caressing his hair, and Stiles took a lick of the popsicle. At least Derek had the presence of mind not to mark Stiles up. All Stiles could think about was _being_ marked up, and about being underneath Derek’s heavy form, trapped. Stiles took a bite, texting Isaac with his free hand. Isaac deserved to know Stiles wasn’t injured and that he was coming home.

Immediately Isaac rang him. “Stiles,” Isaac said. “Are you alright? I saw the news.” Isaac knew as well as Stiles did that lying was easiest over text. A phone would be harder to hide his voice.

It took a moment to remove the popsicle while walking and texting. “I am,” Stiles assured him. “I was with Scott.”

He heard Isaac sigh in relief over the phone, and his voice lightened up. “I was worried you’d gone after that guy,” Isaac replied.

“Well,” Stiles began.

“Stiles,” Isaac scolded.

“He got me home,” Stiles remarked, but he was glad to hear Isaac’s voice, glad to hear another voice of reason. “But I’ll tell you more there later, yeah?” He asked. This place wasn’t secure. He finished the cold treat with a slurp, tossing the stick into the nearest garbage. “I’ve got a lot to tell you. Scott’s an alpha now,” he added, hoping to distract Isaac.

“Stiles,” Isaac chastised, but didn’t say more about it. Instead he sighed. “Okay. Okay. Get home and let’s talk about the crazy guy.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles agreed, ending the call and sending another text to Scott letting him know Stiles was home okay.

It didn’t take long to get to the Omega House. Stiles walked up a couple flights to his floor, ignoring the look of surprise from many people’s faces. After the news, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if everyone thought he was dead. Hell, everyone knew he did coding that way, too, and the guards were all Argents- someone knew.

As he knocked on his door, a bunch of other omegas came out of the woodwork. Suddenly Isaac slammed into him from his right, embracing him in a tight hug.

Stiles shivered for a moment before he hugged back. Though they were both assholes, they were one of the few remainders of their classroom. They’d both been the last ones onto the trains. They were like family now, even if they didn’t like each other most of the time. If anything happened to Isaac, Stiles would have been beside himself with grief.

“We all thought you were dead,” someone else spoke up quietly. “One of the agents came to get your stuff.” They patted Stiles on the back.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You guys know where I go?” he asked quietly. “

“Of course,” Isaac replied, sniffling. “We all know.” He pulled away, face red. “I took your stuff,” Isaac admitted. “So they didn’t get it. I’m keeping it, by the way.”

Stiles nodded. “Didn’t even make a dent in your sheet,” he replied, but cracked Isaac a smile. Stiles pulled out his phone, texting Derek he’d arrived safely. Isaac pulled away, glaring at Stiles. “He’s… we’re going to test the bond tomorrow,” Stiles explained. “He didn’t give me his address, and I’ll have to find him.” He paused, looking around. “I’m alive. He got me on a different train.”

The people around looked gossipy until Isaac shoved Stiles inside his room and shut the door.

Isaac still didn’t look convinced. “Stiles,” he replied. “They’re testing a drug on you, dude.” He pulled Stiles into the room. “A bond? Really?” Stiles shrugged, trying not to let his feeling of anxiety get in the way. “Are you getting any of the usual symptoms?”

“No.” Stiles winced. Not like he _knew_ any of the usual symptoms beyond “heat”.

“Then…” Isaac sighed. “I can’t tell you to be any more careful. But do so. He might be drugging you, Stiles. If you’re not getting the symptoms, it’s probably sketch.”

Stiles closed his eyes, falling back onto his bed. “I know,” he muttered, pulling his phone out to the side. Maybe he could sleep, even just a little. “But he thinks I could be a drug, too. And that’s why we’re testing.”

Isaac eyed him carefully. “At least he got you from the train,” he agreed.

No. Stiles didn’t want to think about the trains right now. Or the Argents. The whole thing drained him. He yawned while Isaac shook his head. “You’ve gotten into more than you can chew,” Isaac muttered.

“Saw Scott, though,” Stiles murmured, mind fading away. “He’s doing well. Alpha now.”

Isaac blinked. “You said earlier,” he thought out loud. “I’m surprised.” He got out his phone, probably texting Scott. Stiles let him; the two of them hadn’t talked for quite a while.

A text came in from Derek. **Glad you’re home safe** , it read. Warmth spread over Stiles’s chest.

**Are you?** He texted back. There was no response right away, but Stiles could feel Isaac’s eyes on him. “He’s a creeper, Stiles,” he warned, and Stiles knew that would be the end of it.

Derek… Derek was a creeper. He was also an Alpha werewolf, which explained a lot. And though they’d both been found at the most suspicious time for the two of them… Stiles paused, wondering if Derek could feel his insecurity through the bond. If it all was a test about drugs.

At least something Derek had claimed one thing correctly: away from Derek, Stiles was able to think clearly. Even if all Stiles’s thoughts seemed to be about Derek.

**Go to sleep** , his phone beeped. Stiles smiled and set his phone away, curling up into a ball, ignoring how Isaac didn’t even toss a blanket his way. Eh. Stiles deserved it after the train fiasco.

 

***

 

The next morning Stiles woke earlier than he’d intended. His mind felt a little more unsettled than usual, but Stiles chalked that up to the bond. He looked to his right, seeing Isaac’s sleeping form and thinking of Isaac’s words. Probably sketch indeed. But they were _trying_ , Stiles reminded himself. Derek had chances to kill him or return him to the Argents by leading Stiles to _their_ train, and Derek didn’t.

These would be thoughts useful in the shower, Stiles decided, hauling out of his room and to the community showers.

Stiles believed Derek had a reason to get rid of the Argents. Believing Derek partnered with the Argents took way more effort. However, that didn’t mean that Derek hadn’t gotten his hand on a drug for Stiles or that Derek wouldn’t sell Stiles out. He kept thinking. The Argents wanted Stiles dead, that was for certain, but Derek could use Stiles alive. Right now, Derek would need Stiles’s testimony to back up the information Stiles had given him. And if the Argents got wind about it…

Stiles needed to find a new place to live, he realized. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t put the other omegas in danger.

All right, he reasoned. That plan seemed reasonable, especially with Derek’s money. He could look for places today if he didn’t find Derek. That settled the Argent problem for now.

Stiles scrubbed his face in the cold water, thinking of Isaac’s words. There was one thing wrong with the mates theory: Stiles hadn’t started his head yet. He hadn’t felt _any_ of the real symptoms of a bond. His body wasn’t leaking slick, and he wasn’t going into pre-heat. Nor did he feel particularly docile.

Perhaps bond was too strong a word: Derek saw him as his mate. Stiles could feel something, certainly, but it related more to his fear of the Argents more than safety with Derek. The man had carried him across a wooden plank, for goodness’ sake. All of Stiles’s safety right now wrapped up in Derek, and without him Stiles _didn’t_ feel safe. That qualified as “something.”

Frowning, Stiles tried to put his finger on what exactly he felt. Without Derek, Stiles felt jumpy and on edge. That could easily be attributed to Kay- Kate, he corrected himself. When he found himself in Derek’s presence, Stiles didn’t always want to roll over and let Derek take care of him. Instead he wanted to solve what was going on, and he wanted to help Scott. And maybe investigate what had happened to Beacon Hills, especially if Derek thought the Beacon Hills fire was no accident.

So certainly there was a bond going on, one without sex, and Stiles didn’t feel like a mate. That pointed to drugs. Or something psychological and not hormonal. . He sighed; there wasn’t really any other way to test this unless one of two things:

  1. He watched Derek and checked everything did for at least a week, ensuring Derek wouldn’t take drugs.
  2. He followed Derek’s advice and tried to find Derek through the “bond”, and if it worked, it proved it was not simulated through drugs. The city was too big to stumble across Derek over dumb luck.



So then. Stiles sighed and felt for what he deemed as the bond. Positives.

Derek might have been messing with him, Stiles thought, but he seemed sincere. And he at least was willing to risk his life to get Stiles, he remembered, thinking of the board incident yesterday. Surely Derek could have found another omega to do that with. Also, the suspicion Derek displayed when Stiles woke up suggested this thing was at a bad time for Derek as well. Plus, Derek also seemed to be respecting Stiles’s space just a little, though not by much, really, with the daily contact. Positives indeed.

Maybe there was a bond, Stiles thought. Maybe it was broken on Stiles’s end.

He bit his lip. There was a lot of evidence for the bond being there, but he would still regard it with suspicion. Not until they’d proven this thing. Jumping out of the icy water, Stiles took note of a couple more people up in the morning. “Danny didn’t make it home last night,” someone else greeted. “Thought you’d be stuck out there with him.”

“Different train,” Stiles admitted, sad that Danny wasn’t here to talk to. He shook of the water as best he could, but it still clung to him, cold in the morning. Others were pouring into the room in hopes of having a warm shower, so Stiles grabbed his clothes and made his way outside, walking in the nude back to his room.

“Morning,” Isaac muttered, turning over more for avoiding the light than Stiles’s dick. “I’m gonna go see Scott today,” he announced. “He actually gave me directions that didn’t involve crossing boards between buildings.” It wasn’t even hinted as scolding; Isaac simply stated the facts in a manner that suggested he was superior simply because he wasn’t doing that. Which, fair.

Stiles didn’t even flinch that Scott told Isaac about what had happened. Isaac had probably texted Scott to say Stiles had made it home.

“I’m going to wander around the city and get lost,” Stiles replied, picking up his phone. No texts. Good. He turned his phone over for a moment as he gathered his clean set of clothes, looking back at Isaac. “Hope you enjoy the new medical wing,” Stiles replied. “By the way, _I_ did that.”

Isaac shrugged. “Whatever,” he snapped, turning over. Only after Stiles had put on his clothes did he realize Isaac had grabbed his covers for heat. Why had Stiles said he liked Isaac again? Terrible.

“Bye~” Stiles called, not waiting for a response. He shut the door and heard it lock automatically. As he made his way to the elevator, he pulled out his phone for one last text for a while. **I’m starting,** he typed. **Btw, I’ll have my phone off. So don’t bother contacting me.** He sent it off to Derek, following through with his words.

_Alright_ , he decided, searching for his bond. He could feel it tug just a little, in a general direction. Far off, maybe. Stiles swallowed.

This was dumb. It could be a mental trick.

But he wouldn’t get anywhere like he was now, so he started to the elevator, hoping to hit the public walkway on the 30th floor. He shifted nervously, mind spinning with possibilities when the elevator dinged upwards, and the guard who’d tried to sell him the other night looked up at him surprised.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he hissed, suddenly reaching for something. Stiles didn’t know what. A phone? A gun? One of the omega repressors?

It wasn’t good, whatever it was. Stiles’s brain started whirring as his mouth began to stall for time. Stiles took a step back. “Hey, I’m pretty sure we can talk about this,” he said, hands up. The man snarled, pulling a phone to his mouth. “Or to a third party,” Stiles finished, taking another step for the door.

“Tell Kate Argent that he’s still alive,” the guard snapped, and Stiles’s legs took him down the empty walkway, down to the stairs where he started going down three at a time. He might have jumped half a flight, he wasn’t sure. Kate Argent _was_ involved. She _was_ trying to kill him. Damn it.

The guard yelled behind him. “He’s fleeing!”

Great. Stiles didn’t trust himself to run and work his phone, so he kept running. The big public walkway might be too much, as many eyewitnesses would just _watch_ an omega suddenly be taken down, probably cheer, but the private ones between buildings would be better. Plus, there wouldn’t be so many stairs.

His mind started making maps, connecting to buildings, seeing where he might best go. There were a set of worker’s walkways that connected underneath the train line. If he could get to those, it’d be a clean run.

No time. He heard something fire and hit the step next to him, but he kept running down the steps, hoping to make it to the first walkway. Luckily his legs kept running, despite the fear he’d been hit. He hopped down the next half-flight, making it to the 50th floor- there’d be a walkway there, though not as crowded as one of the big public ones on the 30th. He darted through the doors, hearing a warning from Argent security that his ID was not accepted and kept running, aware the police would be involved. Shit.

He darted into the crowd, hoping that the guy wouldn’t be firing.

Another shot rang out, showing Stiles how dedicated the Argents were to stopping him. Stiles could practically feel the richer class running in surprise as they followed his lead, trying to get away from the shooter. The gates started closing automatically and Stiles pushed his way through them, ignoring the scream of someone with the sickening crack of bone behind him. He stopped for a moment to get his breath, noticing someone else next to him with a wound in her shoulder; blood out of her arm.

“Get to the hospital,” Stiles told her, his hands on her wrists. “Go.” He pointed and she followed the crowd as they kept running. Stiles swallowed, looking at the juncture; he could follow them into more places with people, or…

He turned down a service entrance, pulling the door closed as he heard the gates on the walkway open; someone’s screaming grew even louder. Stiles didn’t bother with his phone now, either, he just moved down the flights of stairs, noting the signs that told him he had 5 flights until the service walkway, made of nothing but chain link. Stiles swallowed, hoping it wouldn’t be locked.

Despite aching legs, Stiles forced himself to run, hitting the door to the walkway with a lot of force. Damn, if he wouldn’t be able to open it, he’d die here. He didn’t want to die. He pushed again on the door, again hoping the walkway would appear. The service entrance would get him a few flights at least, closer to the main walkway.

It didn’t budge.

Up the stairs the guard swore and Stiles threw his body against the door, afraid. He had to come up with something if he couldn’t open the doors- what would the guy think? He’d spent his days with omegas, probably omegas in heat, and-

Well, that was one plan. Stiles started pumping out scent, hoping the guy might choke on it. “Alpha,” Stiles began, hands hitting the door hopelessly. “Alpha,” he said again, a little louder. There was a light on, a red light that remained red. The door had been locked the whole time.

Fuck. Maybe he could get he guard to open it?

“Nah, he’s caught down here,” the guard muttered. “Whew, it stinks,” he finished, getting another lungful as Stiles kept trying to produce more. “He’s…” he could hear the man lick his lips.

Stiles whimpered. He couldn’t do this for long without falling into a pseudo-heat, and post-heat _that_ might not be so potent for either of them. “Alpha,” he cried out, falling to his knees. This would work. If the guard worked for the Argents, he’d be able to open an Argent security door, even if it was the smaller version.

The guard stumbled down the steps. “Keeps calling for his Alpha,” he reported. “Might have met someone, got him all fucked up.”

He could hear the voice on the line. “Explains the train,” the female voice purred. “Look at him, sweet baby omega eyes, so needy.” The voice sounded familiar, but Stiles bet anything that was Kay- Kate Argent. He kept calling, ignoring the guard the way heat-crazed omegas could when they got bad enough.

The guard nodded his agreement, lowering his gun. “I don’t think he sees me,” he muttered, and Stiles ignored him as best he could, feeling his hole start to slicken in response the faux heat. “He’s just stuck in that mindset.”

“Well,” Kate replied. “Do what you will with him, so long as you bring back part of his dead body,” she snapped. “We need it for the omega terrorist angle.”

That’d be the news they would use to explain a guard shooting people. Stiles ignored it, still focused on the doors. The man said an okay and shut down the conversation. That’s what Stiles really needed: the guy alone. Maybe he could get the guy to open the doors, or maybe-

The light next to the door turned green. So the Argents _were_ in control of the door.

“Hey there,” the guard asked with a husky voice. “You need an Alpha?”

Putting on the picture of innocence, Stiles kept his eyes wide and turned to see the man, trying to look needy. “My Alpha,” he breathed, trying to make himself small but pleading.

The guard gave a predatory grin, showing far too much teeth. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you your alpha. Some drugs they gave you, huh?” he asked, putting his gun away in his belt.

Bingo. At least one part of Stiles’s plan had worked.

“I’ve got to get to him,” Stiles continued babbling, and the man squatted down next to him. Though it scared Stiles, it was a good sign. Stiles’s pheromones were working, and the guy wasn’t thinking rationally.

The guard traced Stiles’s face with his finger, smelling of sweat and lust, and in his half-heated state Stiles could say it felt _good_. A sign he was too far gone already, but it was doing the job. The guard smirked and began to trace down Stiles’s neck, and Stiles shivered. “You’re all worked up, aren’t you,” the guard asked, and Stiles licked his lips, hands on the man’s thighs. “Need something inside you, something to keep you all full.” The man licked his lips, panting.

Stiles didn’t mention the man was now backed up against the doors, or that his gun was within reach. No. He didn’t need any of that. He needed to get to Derek. He whimpered as the man wrapped his hands around Stiles’s ass, squeezing. “Oh yeah,” the man purred. “Can smell that slick from here.” He forced Stiles into him with a sharp pull, his hardness pressing up against Stiles’s stomach.

Already Stiles’s body began preparing for the sex nearby, and Stiles fought the urge. Instead, he made his hands fumble with the man’s belt, unbuckling it slowly. The guard breathed in happily, not noticing his gun sliding off his hip. Stiles pressed his mouth to the man’s neck, nibbling and whimpering, letting the fool believe he was wanted. _Needed._

The guard grunted, hands moving upward as Stiles pressed him against the door. “Yeah, baby, need a _man_ ,” the guard began.

There wouldn’t be a better time to push. So Stiles pushed as hard as he could, the door opening wide and easily. Pink flesh moved backward and fell and suddenly there wasn’t a man anymore. Stiles watched feet fall away as the wind whipped up, emptying the room of Stiles’s pheromones. There wasn’t… there wasn’t a walkway behind the door.

On the ground the gun lay behind with a phone. Both belonged to the guard.

Stiles had just pushed a man to his death. His body screamed as his scent changed to fear and shock. If there had been an alpha around, he’d be immediately comforted. There wasn’t an alpha. Just Stiles and the gun and phone of a now dead man.

Well, maybe not now. But soon.

Stiles hadn’t meant to kill him. He just wanted more room to flee, to run. Shivering, he let himself think through it.

The Argents wanted him dead. The guy at least wouldn’t come back after him. And the lady, Kate, she would wait a while for the guard to come back, so if Stiles left now he’d have even more time without Argents searching for him.

He looked over the guard’s phone, noting it was encrypted. It’d take more than Stiles’s phone to break it. For now, he turned it off and left it there in case of a tracer. Then he took the gun and turned on the safety, hiding it underneath his shirt.

There wasn’t any point in hanging around here. He kept walking. Slowly and steadily, upwards towards light and the main walkways. People darted around him, rumors flying through the air, but Stiles kept quiet, trying to think of where to go. No choice, really. He had to go to Derek.

Stiles kept walking.

Derek would take care of this. There wasn’t anything Derek couldn’t do. Returning to the Omega House was not an option, not when they were keeping an eye out for him and were owned by the Argents. Stiles breathed in, trying to let his instincts guide him to a “safe” place.

Something inside pulled him up, towards a more long-distance walkway high above the others. Normally these would be rarely used, but with the train it seemed several others were walking high up past the 60th floor, bodies packed as the crowd moved from building to building. There wasn’t even a cover overhead to keep out the wind. Stiles moved onwards, trying not to look down at where the shooting had been earlier.

Unlike the big public walkway, this longer walkway had little ads and news reports inside buildings to mark the way. Reporters were trying to get a picture of the shooter- some were speculating it was an Argent guard. No one knew who he was aiming at, which was good for Stiles. For whatever reason, his picture had been blurred. Stiles looked again at the ad. Perhaps it had been Derek’s doing. Or the Argents.

Something to ask, he guessed. He kept following his instincts, save for the one begging to text someone about what was going on. He looked at the ads-

Someone bumped into him, shoving him forward. “Out of the way, you lazy breeder,” someone said behind him. Lazy. Ha. He glared at the guy behind him, but too many people had passed.

Lazy. Dumb. Freeloaders.

None of the omegas were lazy. They couldn’t get jobs with the system stacked against them. They weren’t allowed jobs and- Stiles felt his anger fizz out just as suddenly as it flared. There wasn’t any point to shouting at the guy. The whole system stacked against omegas, and yelling at one guy wouldn’t change anything.

Stiles hated this. He hated it when things got this bad; when people yelled. He picked up his pace in case any others wanted to send their own hateful thoughts his way. Or fists.

Luckily, now Stiles had a gun.

Jesus, Stiles blinked. He had a _gun_. That would for sure get him arrested. Plus, it was attached to the guard- what was he thinking? He looked around for a waste center, anything that he could toss things over the side. If he kept walking, he was bound to run over one. Swallowing and insisting to himself that he didn’t need the gun, he kept moving.

Lots of time seemed to pass as he put one foot in front of the other. The city seemed endless, spiraling in all directions around him. Below the smog gathered over the tops of some buildings, while above, Stiles could make out gardens or laundry on apartment building tops. Some even had green balconies. And closer to the center of the city were shiny, taller business buildings, sometimes dwarfed by buildings that looked made out of marble and stone, though Stiles knew that was a facade. Those were the government buildings, if Nemeton could be said to have those. Most government services were more a business board than civic servants.

Underneath him seemed to be a waste dump. This far out the crowd had thinned considerably. So Stiles dropped to the ground and curled in on himself, facing the sidewall. People commented about how frail he was, how he never should have left- but Stiles ignored them. Quickly he took out the ammo and set the gun back on its safety. When no one came around, Stiles threw everything over the side.

Good. Now he couldn’t be traced to the evidence. The Argents might have a grip on everything, but they didn’t know where he was right now; the overpass was sketchy. They’d be looking for Stiles on trains and bigger public transport, not overpasses used by those for fitness or for those who rarely had a choice about what transport to take.

The gun fell silently into the clouds. Stiles shivered, thinking about the guard. No one could survive that fall. There hadn’t been any other choice. Hell, it wasn’t like Stiles had known the walkway didn’t exist. Derek would understand. Right?

Sudden advertisements beeped along the railing. One advertisement showed three pm. Lunchtime. He’d been walking for hours, but he didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. Instead he felt empty, trying to hold onto-

The ads flashed into a news announcement. The Omega Home showed on TV, with a fire.

What little remained of Stiles’s heart dropped. The Argents had probably set that fire. Isaac… and Danny… they were-

Stiles didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel that guilt. So he ran. Foot moved past foot as he slid across tile, slipped up and down staircases, around buildings. Instinct guided him. Derek would help him. Nothing would happen to him if he found Derek. Derek would keep all these bad things away.

At once he hated himself for giving into his baser instincts. On the other hand, he didn’t want to keep thinking right now, so instincts it was. So he kept running, down several flights of stairs, over walkways, until he saw a building.

“Hale,” the sign read.

The tug grew even stronger. Derek waited for him inside his company’s building. Stiles didn’t even question why that would be. Instead he stomped through the doors, thrilled about the bond. It was real. No drugs. Just mates. Real mates.

Stiles felt like sobbing in relief. Derek could be trusted, and Derek would think the world of Stiles for finding him. The Argents couldn’t reach her with their trickery. Stiles breathed in and stepped inside another set of glass doors. Directly inside stood the familiar blonde woman who had been next to Derek when they first saw each other.

“Here, boss,” she spoke into a phone, then waited for a reply. She looked at Stiles almost pitifully, eyeing him up and down. Stiles crossed his arms defensively.

“Tell him I’m not hurt,” Stiles demanded, arms shaking. “I’m going to find his room, though. On my own.” Almost immediately he could feel the pull from Derek. Derek summoned him now, a deep sort of wanting. Along the bond Stiles could feel worry. Emotion.

“As neat as that would be,” The woman replied, “I’m following along to give you security clearance.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Erica.”

“Stiles,” he replied, taken aback. He hadn’t even thought about security in here. He just… Well, good thing Erica was there. Stiles couldn’t be bothered second-guessing himself. If anything, extra security made him feel safer. Nodding, he rounded the corner and pressed a button for an elevator. Maybe not the highest floor.

When it dinged, Erica followed him inside, pressing her id to the door before Stiles hit anything. “Told ya,” she smiled, and winked at him. Stiles didn’t wink back, too focused on finding Derek first. When the doors opened, Stiles stayed put. Something told him it wasn’t the right floor yet. Erica seemed impressed, clicking her tongue and winking at him.

A pretty redhead joined them, her heels tapping on the metal. She wore a headset, one of those fancy Bluetooth models with both a microphone and speaker. Not once did she look at Stiles, hitting her floor and continuing their conversation. “That’s right,” she announced. “Do you need another copy of the files?”

Stiles remained silent as he moved closer to Erica. “One moment.” She turned to him, looking at Erica with disdain. “Who is he?” she asked. She looked again at Stiles, like maybe he dressed in street trash. Or was street trash, it was hard to discern from her gaze.

There had been enough street trash treatment today. “Stiles Stilinski,” he snapped, knowing maybe he shouldn’t snap at Derek’s employees but not really giving a damn right now. “And yes, I know I’m an omega but I’m here at Derek’s request, so don’t waste my time throwing me out.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, but turned back to her phone conversation. “That’s right. Did you get it? You’re welcome. Goodbye.” She tapped her Bluetooth to shut it off. “Stiles Stilinski,” she repeated. “The omega Derek’s been obsessed about.”

“Well, there’s a bond,” Stiles replied. “That sort of complicates things. Makes wolves obsessive.”

“So it does,” Lydia agreed, turning to the doors and ending the conversation. When Stiles looked to Erica for help, she only had a huge grin on her face. At the announcement of the floor, Lydia snapped, “Let him know I’ll be up in half an hour.” The doors pulled back and she stepped out onto the shiny floor, heels clicking as she strode down the hallway.

Erica simply shrugged at Stiles’s inquiring gaze. “Derek’s second-in-command, Lydia Martin” she stated, almost laughing. “I’m just a bodyguard.” She smiled. “Did you think I was someone more important?”

Stiles didn’t bother to answer. The pull was strongest on this floor. Hesitantly he stepped out, his hands shaking. Down the hallway, the rooms opened into a long space. As they walked down the hall, the space seemed more like some therapeutic waiting room than an office, and to the right-

Derek was in the room to the right. Even though the door was solid wood, and there wasn’t any marking to show it was Derek’s room, Stiles knew. Gathering in his courage, Stiles stepped up to the door and knocked. “Derek?” he asked.

No answer.

“Derek?” Stiles asked again, looking at Erica. Maybe he’d failed. Maybe he hadn’t-

Oh wait, no. Erica was grinning wildly, even wider than she had grinned on the elevator. In an instant she held her phone, pressing a button. “On the crapper,” she snorted into her phone. “I win the pool.” She cackled and other voices laughed with her. She turned off the audio, chuckling. “Give him moment,” she giggled.

Huh. Of all the scenarios Stiles had pictured, waiting for Derek to finish wiping his ass was not one of them. Awkwardly they waited a little before finally the door swung open.

The bond- Stiles could feel it between them. They really were mates. Derek was worried and fearful but now he bathed in relief, protective feelings flaring up. They were nearly Stiles’s own, and Stiles let himself be pulled into a warm hug. A warm hug with wet hands, he realized too late.

“You’re safe,” Derek breathed. “I heard the shots. I blanked out your face from the media. Stiles, I was so worried. But you’re safe. They didn’t find you.”

“I’m safe,” Stiles replied, more echoing his own feelings than Derek’s words. “Safe.” And for once, he felt secure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles uses his pheromones to try and seduce an attacker out of his gun and into letting Stiles go out a walkway. Guy gets really turned on and ends up being pushed out a door. There isn't any sex.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek’s embrace took away all memory of everything bad that had happened the last two days. Kate couldn’t touch him here, not even when she could hit her own place of business, her own pocketbook by taking out Stiles’s floor. Derek couldn’t be touched in this city- not in a way that wouldn’t connect Stiles to Derek, at least. Right now, all of Derek’s possessive nature appealed to him- Derek would make sure nothing bad could happen to Stiles. Their bond, now proven, ensured that. 

Stiles blinked away tears, trying to get a grip on himself. Weren’t bond-meetings supposed to be pretty? That’s what the movies had taught him anyway. There wasn’t any crying or relief that one wouldn’t die anymore. Those feelings were uncool, and this was supposed to be a cool moment. He was supposed to be cool. Stiles breathed in, ready to say something impressive.

Instead, Derek interrupted him by revealing how uncool Stiles had been. “I could feel your fear,” Derek hummed into Stiles’s neck. “I saw the footage. Are you alright?” 

Stiles held him tightly. “I am now,” he joked, holding tight like he had when visiting Scott- Scott. He pulled away from the hug to check his phone. Scott would need to know he was alive. The blank start-up screen didn’t budge, but Stiles waited, hoping it would work. 

Derek seemed to understand, not at all perturbed that Stiles escaped his grip easily. Instead he turned to Erica. “We’ll be inside, Erica. Thank you.” He might have said something else, but Stiles was too busy looking at all the texts. Scott had texted, **Issac’s with me. Danny’s here too. You okay?**

Thank God. Stiles felt himself release a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. They were alive.

Then, **Stiles?**

**Stiles?**

**Isaac says your phone is off. Stiles? Text me back?**

**Really, I’m worried about you.**

Quickly Stiles sent back a text. **I’m okay. I’m with Derek. Just got here- Argents chased me.** With that, he slipped his phone into his pocket, aware Derek was pushing him inside and closed the door. 

Before Stiles could look around Derek had pulled him into another hug. “I worried about you,” Derek breathed against his skin, inhaling to prove to himself Stiles was real. “ I felt you- I felt you panic. I thought, if you’d gone home with me, you wouldn’t have panicked. Then I heard about the bombing.” 

Stiles could feel Derek’s worry between them. “I’m okay,” he assured the other man, suddenly cold and trembling, wanting more of Derek’s warmth around him. Derek was steady. Solid. Safe. “Once I started, I… I ran from a guard on Kate’s payroll.” 

Derek’s anger suddenly stank up the room. “You forced a pseudo-heat,” Derek pieced together, nostrils flaring. “To evade him.” Derek tightened his grip around Stiles. “That’s why he fired at you- why the chase and Argent alarms suddenly stopped.” He breathed. 

Not quite, but close enough. When Derek understood, Stiles felt relief, remembering Derek’s words about keeping his face hidden.. Derek had protected him. He had insiders in the Argent company, already looking out. Derek had been watching over Stiles the whole time. 

At least Stiles hadn’t told him the rest. “I, uh…” he paused. “He had me trapped,” Stiles uttered into Derek’s ear, glad he didn’t have to say this without Derek’s steadiness. Shame washed over him. He’d acted so… terrible, using sex to kill a man. That’s what terrible omegas did, serial killers who couldn’t be redeemed. “He shot into the crowd, so he was going to kill me, Derek,” Stiles realized he was pleading. What was he pleading for? 

Derek shushed him. “It’s been a long day for us,” he soothed. “Cry, be angry, whatever. But you’re safe here, Stiles,” he insisted. “I won’t let anything happen.” He breathed in Stiles’s scent again. “You did what you had to do. If your hormones are more messed up now, then we’ll deal with that. It’s important you’re safe.”

Right. Derek made sense. Derek didn’t think he was terrible, and his words made logical sense. He’d acted normally. He’d survived someone trying to kill him. Stiles breathed, wrapping his head around it. Right. In no way had Stiles acted badly- he hadn’t known about the walkway. He hadn’t tried to kill someone. 

“…Secure in my place,” Derek was saying. 

“Hmm?” Stiles asked, not really paying attention. Instead he inhaled, Derek’s sent helping to comfort him. 

Stiles shuddered, worried when Derek moved away. But Derek only sat on a comfy chair, motioning for Stiles to sit next to him. “You’re still upset,” Derek noted. As Stiles sat, his hands rubbed at Stiles’s forearms, trying to calm him down. 

“I had to kill him,” Stiles began.  “I thought there was another walkway. I thought I could run there, but I pressed too hard on the door and he fell.” The words felt good to acknowledge out loud. Derek was a lawyer, he remembered. Derek would know what best to do.

Derek closed his eyes, picturing the event. “Did you mean to kill him?” he asked, his eyes still closed. 

For a moment, Stiles went still. Though Stiles had wanted the guard to die, in that moment, he wanted to escape more. “No,” he admitted. He hadn’t wanted to kill the guy.

Derek nodded, eyes looking at Stiles. “An accident,” he allowed, and then swallowed. “A clear accident, Stiles.” He held up Stiles’s chin, his eyes red and reassuring. “Self-defense, an accident. Even if they come after you, you can’t be touched by law.” The way he said the words, so sure of it, Stiles believed him. He could feel emotions tearing him in several different places- hormones, Derek claimed. 

Right. Derek knew. “I’m just riled up from all this stuff,” Stiles commented, closing his eyes as Derek’s hands kept soothing him. “Kate and the train and the fire and stuff. And…” he paused. “That feels nice.” 

Derek grunted an affirmative. “That’s the point.” But on Derek’s side Stiles could feel even more worry, more anxiety. 

“Hey,” Stiles tried to change the subject more for himself than the immense fear and worry coming from behind his Alpha’s reassurance. “We’re mates. We’ve got a bond, even if it’s broken.” 

Derek seemed to relax, following Stiles’s change of subject. “Not broken. Just not sealed.” 

Stiles let Derek hold him for a little longer before ruining the silence once again. “You’re collecting information about the omegas, right?” he asked, and Derek’s grip on him tightened for a moment. “I could testify.” 

Derek seemed to inhale. “I… Yes. We could use your testimony,” he admitted. “But it’d be just as valid in front of a jury or through a video screen,” he added. Stiles frowned. Of course he wanted to stand in front of a jury. From Derek he could sense protectiveness, a need to keep Stiles safe, contained. Stiles frowned; that wouldn’t do. He had to go in front of everyone. “What did you do with the card?” 

Derek continued. “I looked through your card,” he admitted. “Well, waded through that information.” He pulled Stiles away from him for a moment, taking a breath. “You’ve found things that would have taken me months more to find,” Derek encouraged. “We’ve got enough to put the Argents away for quite a while.” It wasn’t just encouragement, Stiles realized. Derek was showing off, being a bit more alpha about announcing it. The Argents had hurt Stiles and now Derek displayed how much he could make them pay. 

However, Stiles cared more about how useful he’d been than what Derek could do for him. “Good,” he said, pulling away and standing on his own. “Anything else I can do?” 

The question surprised Derek, if his face was anything to go by. Most likely he had thought the matter settled, that Stiles would be content in helping what he had. If so, he had a lot more surprises coming. It took Derek a moment before he recovered his senses, standing next to Stiles. “As a matter of fact, I do have something to show you. I’ve not shown this to anyone. Not even Lydia.” He puffed out a bit, stalking over to the desk and pressing his palm against it. From the bond Stiles could feel pride and eagerness. Whatever Derek wanted to show him, he seemed sure Stiles would like it. 

Trying hard not to seem curious, Stiles titled his head, watching as the computer booted up. “Stilinski file,” Derek spoke. 

Well, Stiles thought, frowning, of course Derek hadn’t shown anyone files about him. Possessive asshole. Was he going to show Stiles all the files he’d ever collected about Stiles? Derek made it clear that-

Sheriff Stilinski’s face appeared on screen. Behind it, several other attached files were displayed. Stiles gaped for a moment before he shut his mouth, hands shaking towards the file. “Dad?” he asked weakly. “How do you-“

“The wolves talked about him. Some still do, when they come up from the tunnels,” Derek replied. “He’s got someone working on the inside of this city, gives wolves passage and gets them to me. I’ve never talked to him directly, though. It pains me to admit it, but I don’t know where he is, just that he’s alive.” 

Alive. Stiles repeated the words over in his head. If wolves were coming in- the Sheriff was at one end of the trail. Stiles could find him- didn’t he know wolves? He could talk to them, better than Derek because he didn’t have rank like Derek did. “I can find him-“

Derek continued as if he hadn’t heard Stiles at all. “He’s our prime witness,” he began. “No one else knows what happened with the Argent contract. And he’d have a lawsuit to bring. I’d just be a representative on behalf of omegas,” Derek replied sadly. Both of them knew it wasn’t meant as a personal slight. Rather, Derek’s words reflected the public’s slight. The public’s eye didn’t embrace someone representing the needs of others nearly as much as they gobbled up a personal lawsuit. And the omegas wouldn’t be embraced- they’d been taken care of. They’d been fed, given jobs. But the Sheriff had been forced to live as a fugitive, maybe down underground. The public would eat that up. 

Derek would never get justice for his family. Not in the way he deserved. But he could take down those that hurt them. Stiles could see him: a man hell-bent on revenge and used to getting his own way, with more use for money than morals. The only way he knew how to protect was through concealing: his work, his pain, his omega. Or at least, that’s the impression Stiles could piece together from this. 

“This is a thing you do then?” Stiles asked, his mind still reeling with the new information. “Collect everything connected to the Argents and keep it under lock and key?” 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Stiles-“ he stopped himself. “This is a very different city,” Derek explained, showing incidents related to the Argents. “Even so, this evidence is going to the courts; we’re charging them, but it’s going to be in a court of law.” 

“Who owns them?” Stiles asked, bitterly, searching through the files for anything about his father. Waves of information came at him- interviews, programs, flaws. Derek didn’t answer, sensing Stiles’s frustration at the system. Stiles kept running his hands through everything, but the information about his father was nearly all speculation- nothing concrete. 

Derek opened more information. “Eye-witness accounts suggest your father helped the werewolves escape via the ground when Beacon Hills lost power,” Derek replied, reading it to Stiles. “Since they can survive a little longer in that stench. Their accounts don’t match with his declared time of death; he supposedly died a day before they reported seeing him.” 

Too much. So much to process. His father- his father might be alive. And the Argents had tried to kill all of those people, just so they could- Stiles looked back through the files noting how much the Argents made after each “sale” of an omega. Derek watched him put the pieces together. “You weren’t lying,” Stiles replied softly. He’d figured as much, but here, seeing the proof- it stung at him. The Argents really had collected omegas from another city just for profit. 

“I’m here,” a female voice announced. Stiles glanced in her direction. Lydia, from the elevator, he remembered. She looked unimpressed at the two of them. Derek quickly attempted to close some of the files, but Stiles batted his hand away, continuing to look. Lydia said something else to Derek, then, but Stiles didn’t care to listen.

“8 years,” Stiles replied, thinking of right before the fire. He kept typing into stories, trying to find anything about his father, and Derek was right. Too many accounts put his father at the surface, helping werewolves reach tunnels to safety. Too many to be discredited. For once, Stiles felt something like hope. 

“Where would he be?” Stiles asked, focused.

Derek shifted stiffly- uncomfortable. Attraction. The need to claim. The need to gain Stiles’s attention. 

Feelings Stiles didn’t feel at all. None of his expecting symptoms had popped up. Yet he couldn’t deny feeling _safe_ here; he couldn’t deny his biology. One step at a time, he reminded himself. It’d be better to plan. Better not to be impulsive yet, even if he was itching to figure anything out. 

“I’m not sure,” Derek replied as if Stiles meant to talk to him. “Lots of ways to get lost in this city. But every so often we get a new were, unregistered claiming he’s from the wild.” He opened up a bunch of them. 

At least there was another person there, Stiles realized. Someone else would take note, he could use Lydia’s help. “This is too much, Derek. I’ve got to go find him.” He wondered if Lydia might take the case, if she could help them where Derek couldn’t. 

Derek growled, low and angry. It made the hairs on the back of his head stand up, the submissive side want to obey. “Derek,” Stiles struggled, but Derek only held onto his arm tighter. Derek didn’t _want_ to let Stiles go. Worry and anger and possessive behavior- all of these emotions flowed through them.

“Where would you go?” Derek snapped. It didn’t escape Stiles’s notice that Lydia took a step back. There was something too real about what Derek said- he couldn’t go back to the House, accident or not. Too real, too much truth- too mean.

Knowing how possessive wolves (or Derek, realistically) could be, Stiles took in a breath. He couldn’t say Scott, that would make Derek’s wolf instincts go berserk. “Danny,” he replied, chasing his names carefully. Danny was already with Scott, but Derek didn’t need to know.  “Isaac. They’re both worried about me, and we can find a room together while I look.” He didn’t mention it would be a seedy room. Cheap, though still better than the house. It’d be away from Derek, away from this. “We can use Isaac’s name so the Argents don’t-“

“ ** _Stay with me._** ” A command. A command from an Alpha.

His alpha. 

Stiles buckled while Lydia looked livid. A command- Stiles tried to find a loophole. Derek wasn’t his alpha, was he? Not yet. But his knees buckled anyway, emitting his strongest dose of stress and frustration. His body couldn’t quite produce the right smell, and exhaustion took him over instead. His mind started to shut down, a bodily attempt to force Stiles into recuperation. 

So when Derek made a whining sound, Stiles didn’t even question why. Instead he fought passing out while Derek scooped him up and moved to a chair, settling Stiles in his lap. “They’re worried,” he slurred, pushing fruitlessly on Derek’s shoulder. 

Now Derek’s plan was clear. A place? Derek wanted to take Stiles back to his place. Derek would wrap him up in fine clothes and food and keep him under lock and key. The Argents gave him nothing but he could roam. Stiles couldn’t be shut out now. He had to help. 

“I’ll hire them. Scott can be your bodyguard, and you can talk to him in my apartment.” The worst part was feeling how much Derek fought himself to allow that. 

Stiles shook his head. “Derek, no, I gotta leave-“

“ _No_ , Stiles,” he commanded again, and Stiles went even more under, his body relaxing and trembling while his hormones went into overdrive, trying to force Stiles to submit. 

“Jesus, Derek,” Lydia hissed. Stiles couldn’t say anything. “You’re forcing him into a Stagger,” she snapped. Fall. Stiles remembered those, but barely. When an omega’s body took too much, it forced him to stay still and heal. The more he fought, the deeper he’d fall under, staggering until he…

Stiles couldn’t remember. 

Anxiety radiated from his Alpha, and Stiles couldn’t even muster enough scent to calm him. Instead he listened as Derek panicked. “He faked a heat,” Derek whined. “Oh, God, Lydia, I can’t…” Derek shook. “I’m a mess.” Derek breathed, trying to calm himself.  Hands ran themselves through Stiles’s hair. It felt nice, nicer than the black spots dancing at the edge of Stiles’s vision. Derek seemed to calm at the touch as well.

Lydia seemed to be tapping something. “He’s checked out, though Derek. No contact with Kate other than the work. However,” she snapped, “He had no way of checking you out beyond this bond thing, and he’s post heat _and_ finishing a faux heat and now your commands and worry are pushing him to a medical emergency.” She tapped on something again. 

Suddenly Derek’s scent turned soft, something reassuring. “Right,” he reminded himself. “Stiles. You’ve done so much for me already,” he comforted, and Stiles’s body stopped shivering, accepting the Alpha praise. “So smart. Giving me the final pieces to the puzzle, proving the error was actually part of the overheating program, telling me about the omega disappearances. We have so much evidence thanks to you.” 

Good. Stiles had done good for once. Not just surviving, not trying to look out for him and Scott, but he’d actually helped more than what he’d meant to. That was pretty kick-ass, Stiles thought, head still muddy. His alpha was _proud_. Stiles had _helped_. 

Lydia sighed. “Derek. You’ve got to deal with him or the case. Kate knows about your bond now. You have to put this case in someone else’s hands.” 

Derek growled. “Not even yours, Lydia. I can do both. I can arrest them and keep him.” Derek stroked over Stiles’s head. “I can.” 

Well. Derek was just being a giant instinctual wolf-butt. Stiles might be able to deal with that. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Derek’s determination. Yet still he could feel his own feelings, agreeing with Lydia.

“It’d be different if he was _claimed_ , Derek. But you’re too far away from-“

Derek tried hard to keep his growl from coming out, but Stiles frowned anyway. Reassuringly Derek patted Stiles’s hair again. “I can,” he snapped. 

“Your wolf is going crazy with this,” Lydia continued. “Derek, I’m not trying to keep you from him. I’m trying to do the opposite.” 

Stiles could feel the way Derek tensed up, but Derek’s hand on his head only felt good; felt comforting. Stiles didn’t want to know right now, and he snuggled closer to Derek. He could blame that on hormones or stress or whatever. “Derek-“

“We’re going,” Derek snapped, and stood up, and Stiles blacked out.

 

***

 

Stiles came to on a big bed, aware it smelled exactly like Derek. Derek’s personal room, maybe? Wherever it was, he was warm, which was a start. 

He breathed. Derek’s scent was calming. For now, he was safe. His phone wasn’t in his pocket, nor anywhere on the bed, but Stiles allowed himself to be distracted by silk sheets. Fuckin’ silk sheets. So cold. So smooth. Silky. 

Part of him felt well provided for. He could feel his instincts kicking in, telling him to challenge, to see what else the alpha had, to force Derek to be better if he couldn’t provide. Stiles looked around the dark room, sitting up. 

Still clothed, he noted. Thank God. 

Through the bond he could feel Derek- and it surprised him at how much more calm Derek felt in this place of his scent. Stiles hadn’t even noticed the waves of stress pouring through their bond. He’d thought that Derek naturally felt that way. But now here, Derek was calmer, probably happy that Stiles slept in his bed and in his space. Stiles would be protected until their bond. 

 That didn’t make bringing Stiles back okay, Stiles reminded himself, mind snapping to attention, but it did explain things might not always be this way. 

For now, Derek was pleased, the alpha side of him thrilled at having his mate safe inside his home, in his den. Remembering what Derek had shown him earlier, Stiles shivered. He couldn’t… there was too much to do. His life was at risk and Derek was a new thing he was getting swept away in and he needed space. He needed to breathe.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts. “Can I come in?”

Derek. 

Stiles moved to the edge of the bed. “Come in,” he agreed. He needed to go home. He needed to think without Derek’s scent here, without thinking about Derek in the form of mates. He needed Isaac’s sharp wit. 

Softly Derek opened the door and came inside, eyes flashing as Stiles’s scent intermingled with his own. Or maybe at the sight of Stiles on his bed. Stiles couldn’t be sure, but he tried to reply with calming scents instead. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Derek assured him, sitting next to him. “You’ll get sick if you keep doing it.” A strong hand reached along his neck, just rubbing. Stiles sighed at the feeling, stopping trying to pump his pheromones. 

“You’re so stressed out,” Stiles replied. “You even gave me a command,” he remembered, glaring at Derek. 

Derek challenged him. “It was for the best,” he pushed. “I did it because you need to stay here, with me. You need to be safe so I can do this final push.” He kept rubbing in the same spot he had in the office. “You said your heat is in about three months or so, yeah? That’ll be okay. You can stay here, and the Argent case will be dying down by then.” 

The way he said it- like he knew best. Stiles didn’t want to stay here. He wanted to go out, do his own things, especially if his father was out there. “It’s been a whirlwind,” Stiles informed him, pushing Derek’s hand away. “But I need my own space for a bit, Derek. Ok, you’ll take care of the Argents, but I have to find my father. I have to take care of the other omegas. They’ll still be sold, Derek.” 

Derek froze for a moment, anger flaring through the bond. But just as quickly it became understanding, patronization, before Derek shook his head. “This is the best thing for you, Stiles. You’ll be safe. You’ll be _here_. Is it money? I can give them money,” he continued, and Stiles could see what that was before- a means to entice Stiles, to better his thoughts about Derek, to show how well Derek could provide.

“I don’t want money,” Stiles said softly, standing up. “Derek, I have to take care of them. I have to find dad.” 

Derek seemed shaken. “You can’t go,” he snapped. “It’s not safe. They’ll kill you,” he reminded Stiles. His grip settled on Stiles’s wrist, pulling him back into the bed. 

“Hey-“ Stiles called out, but Derek fell on top of him. Stiles struggled under Derek’s weight, stopping as Derek’s teeth pressed against his neck. A clear sign of dominance. 

“There’s no where for you to go,” Derek snapped into his skin, speaking words. “You said it yourself. Nobody hires omegas. Nobody wants omegas.” 

This was a fundamental truth. Stiles had been barely eking out an existence before, taking care of Scott, Isaac, himself. He looked at the lush things in Derek’s room- silk sheets, perfume, mirrors. He’d woken up warm. 

But even more a prisoner than when he was with the omega company. 

Derek pulled away. Stiles snapped at him, his hand hitting Derek’s face and surprising him. Stiles squirmed away, heading for the door. “I’m going to leave now,” he snapped. “I’m going to leave and you just back the fuck away.” He snapped at Derek, at the door. “We’re not _real_ mates, anyway,” he continued, yelling his insecurities. “Why haven’t I wanted to lay with you? Why haven’t I gone through any of the traditional nesting things, huh? It’s because you’re forcing the bond on _me_ ,” he snapped. “I’m not your pretty omega prize to be owned. I’m not someone you can just throw away when you’re done, not a trophy to keep inside your house forever,” Stiles yelled. 

Derek looked like his heart was breaking. Too bad, Stiles thought. He wasn’t about to be trapped. “I’m going,” he replied.

“To Scott,” Derek asked, nearly a growl. “He’s coming _here_. I hired him. We talked. About. It. ” 

“And the other omegas?” Stiles sneered. “You have jobs for all of them as well?” He watched Derek’s eyes fall. “And my dad. I’ve got to find him,” Stiles finished. “I can’t be cooped up. I can’t be doing this. I’m not safe-“ 

Derek roared, eyes flashing and wolf features coming out. Terrified Stiles froze. In only a moment Derek raced up to him, throwing him back on the bed, reversing their positions. “You won’t leave,” he yelled. “It isn’t _safe_!” 

Stiles felt panic in his chest but his words kept coming. “And this is safe?” he asked, sitting up, adrenaline flowing. 

Derek roared again. “You’ll ** _stay here_** ,” he commanded, his eyes red and claws out. “You’ll stay here where they can’t get you,” he continued, and slammed the door shut.

The sound of locks setting made Stiles move forward. Panicking, he pleaded. “No, no, Derek, no-“ 

“You’ll be safe here,” Derek continued through the door. His voice wasn't even smug, just assuring him. “We’ll figure out the bond when I’m done with the Argents,” he informed Stiles. “Nobody can touch you. Nobody.” 

Pounding against the door with his fists, Stiles snapped at Derek, yelling.  “Of course that’s the important part, isn't it? Keeping your _pet_ pure!” He kept hitting the door to no avail, kept tearing at it. Each flare of pain made him anger, fueled his anger. Derek trapped Stiles and Stiles wouldn't put up with it. 

“You’re _safe_ here,” Derek continued, calmer. “You’ll understand. We’ll work it out later,” he repeated to himself. 

Stiles kept pounding. The Argents. The Argents were more important to Derek. He wasn’t important, just an omega, just a breeding tool. Revenge was the most important thing.“You bastard,” Stiles whimpered. He looked around for his phone, but it was nowhere in sight. 

“Scott will come by,” Derek continued, his voice lulling and comforting. “I’ve hired him as your security person, your personal attendant. And Isaac will help, too. Won’t that be nice?” 

That was the worst part. Stiles could _feel_ Derek’s sincerity. Right now Derek’s instincts wanted Stiles safe, and for Derek, that meant locking Stiles up and keeping him away from the Argents. 

“No, Derek, no,” he struggled, but Derek held him down. “Derek, I’m not a _pet_. You can’t keep me here, Derek-“ 

“I _won’t_ let them kill you!” Derek snarled. Stiles froze.  Derek felt horrified at himself. “Once the bond- once the bond takes,” Derek muttered to himself. 

Stiles didn’t understand. “What? Once the bond takes what?” No response. “Derek,” he whined, but Derek continued. 

“They’ll kill another city, Stiles,” Derek continued. “They _killed_ my family. They’ve got to be stopped,” he continued. “I won’t let them kill you too.” He breathed, sighed, and tapped on the door. “I’m going to work now,” he told him. “But I’ll be sure to be back in a couple hours, okay? I know you need to have company. Erica’s here, too, so if you need anything else…” He trailed off. “I love you,” he finished. 

“You don’t even know me,” Stiles snapped. “Derek, you can’t do this. Derek, you can’t. You can’t leave me here-“ 

“It won’t be for long,” he heard Derek say, and then Stiles heard more movement on the other side. Derek left. Stiles looked around the bedroom helplessly, noting the covers thrown on the floor. He could smell a bathroom behind a glass door. Probably one of these things was a walk-in-closet. Derek hadn't even trapped him in his house. Derek had trapped Stiles in his bedroom. Who know how long-

"It won't be for long," Derek had said, and Stiles felt numb thinking about it. Why wouldn't it be for long? What exactly did Derek mean by that? He swallowed, heading back to the bed for now. What exactly was Derek planning?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news- my computer died two weeks ago, but I've been able to recover the files. :) So I don't have to rewrite much. :) (The last two chapters are actually handwritten, so I always had those). :) 
> 
> Also please note I did not kill the sheriff. This is apparently a thing I do, I realized. So I've made an effort to keep him alive and make him not dead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: very subtle hints at non-con, appearance of a needle before the first set of ***, Stiles goes into heat and has awkward moments in public because of it and cannot think clearly, but he is treated well by those who find him.

 

Stiles stopped beating against the door only once he could no longer feel Derek’s presence. Now that he could think, he wondered if Derek had left Stiles’s phone behind. Surely Derek would want to check in on him somehow? He threw back the covers to the bed, carefully he looked between the pillows and the headboard. Not there. Frustrated, he groaned, looking around the room again. 

There wasn’t even a window for natural light. Probably for defense, Stiles supposed. No one would be able to break into Derek’s sleeping quarters. Stiles wasn’t even sure he could break _out,_ not that he could do anything else, either. Slowly he felt panic creeping over him.

His phone beeped. The bathroom.

Stiles raced to the bathroom, grabbing his phone. **Stop freaking out. You’re safe. I won’t let them hurt you.**

“I’m a prisoner,” Stiles shot back into the phone and sending the message. He checked around for cameras, stamping down on the nesting feelings of being in Derek’s _den_. 

Messages kept pouring in. **Kate will try and hurt you. She can’t hurt you there. Just a little longer Stiles. If our bond can’t be completed, I’m keeping you safe until it can.**

“This isn’t safe, Derek,” Stiles snapped back, sending the message. “I’m broadcasting all of this,” he said to himself, taking an old broadcasting app and turning it on. Maybe someone would pick up, someone listening to a live stream. There would be some media attention. Derek hosting an innocent omega, that would be enough to get Stiles out of this mess. 

He slipped the phone in his pocket when he noted one of the cabinet doors open, under the sink. Eyes wide, he picked them up: scent blockers, and… 

Heat drugs. 

Derek planned to-

Stiles swallowed. “I just found heat drugs,” he announced pitifully, hands shaking. 

There came a knock on the bathroom door and Stiles jumped, surprised he wasn’t the only one. “Who?” he asked. But soon he realized Erica, Derek’s bodyguard had stayed behind. 

Erica gave him a smile, reaching for the bottles. “Those are mine,” she stated sweetly. When Stiles held them away from her, clutching them to his chest, Erica held up her hands. “Easy. I’m not in any Alpha-rut protective nonsense. I’m a Beta.” She flashed her eyes gold. 

Good. Stiles relaxed. “You going to keep me company?” he asked, handing the drugs over. 

“Thought we could take a trip,” she answered. When Stiles raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. Then she fiddled with one of the bottles.  “I’m under no orders to stay here. Just to stay next to you.” She smiled. “And if you’re next to me, well, that’s mission accomplished right there, isn’t it?”

Relief flooded through him. “Thank you so much,” he muttered. “He’s clearly gone in rut right now.” Good. He could turn the phone off, because Derek’s people were smart, kind people. A loyal pack. 

Something kept his hand from reaching to his phone, though. 

Erica laughed, pouring out a couple pills into her palm, maybe to keep her alert, Stiles guessed. She swallowed them and slid the bottle in her pocket. “The Argents took a lot from him,” she agreed, stepping into closer to him and opening a drawer. Stiles let her, watching curiously as what she was doing. “So now he’s got to choose what he’s going to focus on: the Argents, with possible time-sensitive material, or you, just a bit time-sensitive.” She laughed. “He’s controlled the whole Argent collapse for so long, it’s not surprising he thinks he can treat you in the same manner.” 

Well. At least that was a clear explanation of Derek’s mindset. “It’s still not right,” Stiles pouted. 

“No. It’s very, very wrong,” Erica replied, holding up a filled syringe. 

The bottle of heat-drugs. Stiles took a step back, realizing Erica had blocked him from the door. “Erica?” Stiles pleaded more than asked. Her position kept him from running for cover, not that he had anywhere he could run to.  

Erica looked at him, filling up the syringe. “Don’t worry,” she assured him as she continued to smile. “We’re not going to give you to another Alpha. Just a trip down to the surface, that’s all.” 

While in heat. Oh fuck. His mind spun. Derek. He had to contact Derek, who probably couldn’t feel anything because he thought Stiles was still freaked out about being locked away. It couldn’t have been timed any more perfectly. 

Erica was a double-agent, he realized while backing himself away. She kept talking, steadily coming closer. “If you’re away, Derek’s going to go crazy knowing you’re in heat and that he can’t reach you. All this Argent stuff will fall by the wayside, long enough for her to wipe it out, anyway.” 

“Erica,” Stiles begged, trying for any pheromones, but nothing would come. He’d used up the last of his reserves trying to calm Derek earlier. The olfactory blockers were either for Stiles or for the stench of the surface. It didn’t matter if Stiles could succeed with his heat. Erica had planned everything well. 

He darted behind her for the door, but she shoved him back into the shower.

“He had a choice,” Erica informed Stiles, holding the needle steady. Stiles swallowed. “The Argents, or you.” She shrugged. “Guess he should have chosen to figure things out with you, huh?” she said softly.

And then she whacked him over the head.

Stiles could feel himself shake, could feel darkness as he slumped to the floor. Above him he could barely make out the shape of Erica as she stood over him. He could barely feel her pick up his arm. 

He could feel the prick of a needle, though, heat-drugs. 

“Sorry, sweetie,” Erica said from the light. His mind scattered from him. “She’s got Boyd.” 

 

***

 

The first thing Stiles did upon waking was to check phone. It was still on, still broadcasting. “Still alive,” Stiles muttered to the camera, slipping it into his pocket. “Derek,” he whined, checking where he was. Nearby two people were arguing, yelling something terrible at each other. He turned over and saw Erica, passed out with some nasty scar on her forehead. Groggily he looked up. 

Some sort of train? A car, maybe. It kept rocking back and forth, with something rumbling again and again. The smell- they were close to the surface. Maybe it was a helicopter? A big one?

“I won’t let you do this, Kate,” someone was saying. “You’re not thinking clearly. Those alpha drugs-“ 

“I’m _fine_ without them!” A woman snarled. Kate. Kay. The woman who wanted him dead. “The Hale brat is getting close, don’t you understand? We’re going to be _shut down_ , Chris. Before we had these omegas we were already losing so much money because of that Hale-“

“If the company ran better, we wouldn’t lose that money,” Chris snapped. “Besides, we took the omegas in. We get them jobs.” 

Kate laughed sharply, and Stiles moved his phone closer to them, hoping the stream would pick up her voice. “Chris. Sweet little Chris,” she chided. “You haven’t done any follow up on those jobs, have you?” she asked sweetly. A blurry Chris took a step back, surprised. But a step back was a step closer to Stiles, and closer to the phone. “After they have their ‘internship’, you’ve never looked at where we send them. The accounting office?” Kate giggled madly. “Sweet little omegas in heat, all day, every day, until we’ve knocked them up,” she said. “And then we’ll never run out.” 

So the omegas weren’t dropped on the surface. No, they were kidnapped and bred; forced heats. Stiles nudged his phone even closer, realizing Kate was looking at him. “They smell so sweet, Chris. If you would only take those alpha-hormones, you could spend hours just rolling in that scent.” She inhaled. “He’s so _ripe_ , Chris.” 

Stiles attempted to speak, but his voice came out cracked and raspy. Next to him Erica groaned. 

“We said we would take care of the omegas,” Chris snapped.systems. You “We were installing the security systems. You were installing-“ Chris inhaled. “Kate. This isn’t like you. You’re clever. You’ve got the omegas. Just let this one die.” 

“Oh no,” Kate demanded, taking a step forward. “We’ll toss the wolves. But I want Derek to see me take what’s his before I kill him,” she snapped. “And this one has been a thorn in my side for too long, Chris.” 

Of the two of them, Chris seemed like an okay guy. He only wanted Stiles to die, and that was certainly the better of the two options. Stiles had to try anything, had to say it for the phone. He took in a breath again. “It’s not a glitch,” he rasped, the drugs making it hard to think. “You programmed that in. Blew up the train, the floor. Beacon Hills. You were that lady in the train when we escaped.” 

Kate only smirked at him while Chris became more and more horrified. 

“Always wondered how you could text, when our phones were jammed,” Stiles stated again, glaring at her. He couldn’t quite lift himself off the floor. “You were right there, in Beacon Hills. You had to leave before the explosions started in order to get us away.” 

Kate attempted to take another step, but Chris kept himself in her path. “You see?” she pointed out. “Too smart. Let me kill this one and take out Hale in one fell swoop.”

Derek, Stiles thought, hoping to call out to him. Derek could find him, right? Stiles pulled on the bond, but he couldn’t feel anything. 

“Dad wouldn’t-“

“Dad is fucking omegas as we speak,” she snapped. “I know you’ve turned a blind eye to us, Chris, but Jesus, you can’t be that dumb.” A long nail pointed in Stiles’s direction. “Let me silence him, Chris. Just go back to doing your security teams and leave all the dirty omega fondling to us.” Her eyes flashed red and Stiles whimpered, stuck between his biology pushing him towards an alpha and the other parts of him repulsed that she wasn’t _his_ alpha. 

Someone moved behind him. Someone pulled Erica away, golden werewolf eyes suddenly flaring into Stiles’s vision. The man snarled at Kate. “Cheap tactics,” he snapped. 

Kate tilted her head. “You let him wake up,” she snapped. “Chris, that bond gives them _power_ , remember? He’ll go crazy now trying to protect his mate.” 

Just like Derek had. The thought popped into Stiles’s brain before he shook it out. He kept trying to pull on a bond he couldn’t feel. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe the drugs short-circuited a bond. Maybe he couldn’t-

Kate took another step forward. “He’s panicking, Chris. He doesn’t have to panic. You just coo at them, sweetly, and they make the most beautiful face-“ 

The wolf, probably Boyd, Stiles assumed, snarled turned, ripping the door of the car off it’s hinges. They weren’t on a train. The scent knocked Stiles silly for a moment, but he still watched helplessly as Boyd snarled, picked up Erica’s limp body, and jumped out of the car. 

Kate and Chris were even more overtaken by the smell, but Stiles, being an omega, actually could shut down his olfactory nerves under extreme smell. That’s how omegas didn’t succumb to their own scent, Stiles remembered Harris saying years ago. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Chris’s gun slack in his hand. 

In years since Beacon Hills had fallen, Stiles had pictured this moment. There was a well-thought out plan for revenge, killing the people responsible one by one. He’d imagined making their deaths slow and painful. And though he’d known the Argents were bastards, and he’d suspected they were behind Beacon Hills, he hadn’t really put together the two the way Derek had. 

And if he had been told weeks before that his bonded Alpha would be threatened, Stiles would have straight up blackmailed and manipulated those people for revenge. 

But now, as his hands grabbed Chris’s weapon away from him, there wasn’t any emotion driving him. His mind felt cold and calculated. Goals, not emotions, drove his actions. 

Kate threatened Stiles. Kate killed his town, his friends, his people. 

Though each time he fired the gun his arm hurt from the kickback, Stiles didn’t hear the boom. Instead he watched Kate drop before he dropped the gun and dove out the car himself, turning around to see the face of a shocked Chris Argent as Stiles fell towards the earth. 

 

***

 

The stench reached Stiles before the sounds did. Something terrible reached his nose and he groaned, feeling hot and mind groggy, like fighting through fog. His eyes took in a poster of a werewolf, and some sort of button- something about brain damage. 

It hurt to read. 

“Hey,” came a voice, and Stiles turned for a moment, hoping it might have been Derek. But it wasn’t. Instead Stiles could see a very tall black man (Boyd?) with an oxygen mask holding the blonde lady- Erica. He grabbed his poked arm, scrambling up, before realizing Erica was in terrible shape. 

In the back of his mind, he could remember gunfire. He remembered a shout of her name, and then falling. The stench.

Then nothing. 

“You with us?” the man asked, adjusting an oxygen mask over Erica. Stiles took a moment before realizing he had one on too. “The air is too heavy, pushes the oxygen up. I dragged us down to the tunnels.” Black veins ran up his arms as he kept petting Erica, taking her pain. “We used these to escape Beacon Hills, back in the explosion,” he continued. “Now we keep masks at every entrance. Someone will come for us soon.” The man looked at Erica. “Kate had me trapped. Erica didn’t realize Kate would betray us all.” 

Boyd, Stiles supplied. “Kate’s…” His lungs heaved as he started coughing, more damage done than he thought. His body shook, but if there was one thing Erica had done right, he supposed, it was that being in heat was the only time an omega’s natural healing factor kicked in, aside from being pregnant.

Erica really couldn’t have helped that. Only Derek, with his…

“Kate’s tricked a lot of us,” he continued, his instincts suddenly tearing through his clouded mind, obscuring his thoughts further. He shivered; this place was too dank, too deep, too cold. He didn’t like it at all. Curling into a ball seemed to help, as did feeling out the bond. Derek was alive. That was good. He could feel worry and panic, so he sent back his feelings, letting Derek know-

Relief. Huh. Not his relief. It _was_ Derek.

Good. His mate was relieved, searching for him, probably ready to breed him with a nice, thick cock-

Stiles shook his head. This was hardly the place or the time. Keeping sane would be the only help to him now. A flow of Derek’s emotions helped steady him, sending him calm waves of assurance. Derek would come for him. Derek was looking for him. Shakily breathing in the steady stream of oxygen, Stiles turned back to Boyd. “So we’re in these tunnels for now?” he asked, noting the ladder Boyd must have crawled down. 

“There’ll be a team,” Boyd told him. “Most of the werewolf work is cover for living underground; the Argents are keeping most of us blocked from entering Nemeton  by saying we died.” 

“And selling Omegas,” Stiles added. “Omegas who have no families to miss, since they’re all down here and we don’t know.” He nodded to himself. Derek was planning to use this to cut them down, to keep the Argents away. And Keep Stiles Safe. Safe. Full. Full and fertile, open and so willing for Derek’s-

Fuck. Stiles swallowed and tried to look at Boyd, his senses complaining of the overpowering combination of plastic and metal and stench. Derek was coming, he reminded himself. Derek would find him here. 

Would Derek think to look underground though? 

Stiles shook his head. Of course he would, he helped Boyd, right? And Scott? Of course he’d help his mate. 

But would he get there in time? Certainly if Stiles climbed up, met him halfway, they’d get to filling Stiles sooner. 

“What’re you doing?” Boyd asked cautiously, watching as Stiles strained to pick himself up. 

He whined. “Derek’s waiting,” he whined, trying to lift himself. Weakly his arms gave out, too exhausted from the struggle. But Stiles could do it. He’d force himself to do it. He’d meet Derek and Derek would pin him down, and they’d mate and Stiles would be round and full on his knot and get filled with babies…

Somewhere in his mind he remembered these thoughts weren’t normal, that he didn’t want kids. He didn’t want-

Babies. All the babies, everywhere. Derek would breed him, fill him so full, keep him content and full on his knot and pump his babies-

Stiles shook his head. 

“False heat,” he breathed. 

Luckily, the worry on Boyd’s face gave away that Boyd understood _exactly_ what Stiles felt. “How much?” he asked, holding Erica tighter. “Kid, how much did you _get_?” 

There wasn’t any way of knowing, not that Stiles wanted to know. His rational mind was slipping. His rational _thoughts_ were slipping. His mind was still there, focused on Derek’s cock. He reached out through the bond again, desperate to feel Derek’s connection. Something warm, like him, like Derek. Trying to tell him it would be okay. Derek was coming. 

Of course. And Stiles would meet him. 

Stiles rolled over, crawling towards the ladder. “Gotta… gotta get this.” He pulled himself up, ignoring Boyd’s words. 

He needed Derek. Derek would save him. 

That was- that was wrong-

Stiles growled and kept climbing on the ladder, trying to summon Derek through the bond, body exhausted. I need you. I’m in heat. He climbed upwards. Nothing would stop him from getting his Alpha. 

“Jesus, somebody stop him!” came the cry, but Stiles threw open the latch and looked up at the ground in triumph. He was out. He was-

Something big crashed down next to him, and he jerked away, trying to jump out. Shit that had been on the ground splattered all over him. He scraped at himself, trying to get on the earth. Derek was upwards. Derek was here. He cried out for Derek one more time as he took in the land. 

Shit lay everywhere. Piles of ruin and feces and decay.

The ground wasn’t inhabitable. It hadn’t for centuries. 

Shit did not make a good place for having sex, his mind provided, and Stiles knew there should be more about toxic fumes and disease. But his heat-addled mind only suggested that fields of poop were bad locations for making babies. And Derek was up there. 

He took another step, shit or no shit. He’d make it to Derek.

Strong hands pulled him down, _away_ from Derek, and Stiles snarled and struggled, shouting for his alpha. His hormones spattered anger and he twisted to glare at the person who had dragged him away from his mate, fully intending to rip their heart out. He snapped and snarled, struggling. 

A familiar cuff on the head snapped him out of his thoughts. “Stop that,” the voice scolded.

Familiar. The voice was familiar. Derek? No. 

Who-

His father. Stiles looked up with wide eyes as he took in the sight of Sheriff Stilinski. 

“Dad?” he asked softly. 

“He’s drugged,” Boyd supplied. “HyperHeat meds. Trying to get to his alpha.” The sheriff nodded and the other weres started to take them away, a couple staying by the sheriff.

“Get them to the med center,” the sheriff remarked, looking over his son. “You’re not bonded yet, are you?” 

Stiles breathed in a shaky breath. His mind felt a little clearer with the shock of seeing his father, but not for too much longer. “I… I think so,” he whined. “But it’s broken.” He watched as his father’s face grew stern. “It’s not drugs,” he added. “Not a drugged bond. They… They drugged me to hurt him.” He whined, thinking of Derek. 

The sheriff sighed. “Hale’s your alpha, then?” 

Yes. Yes he was. And how- How did his father know? Stiles glanced at his dad. “You don’t even have a phone,” he complained, letting his father haul him up. 

“No. But I’ve got a Lydia Martin, and she’s better than a phone.” The sheriff gave him a grin, wiping Stiles’s face with his hand. 

Stiles froze. “What?” he asked, as another wolf came up, offering to carry him. His skin crawled and his father shook his head. 

“He’s like this in heats, mild or no,” he warned the wolf. “Come on. At least you’re in heat when all this happened, you’ll heal up.” He hauled Stiles to his feet. “Can you walk?” 

Stiles felt so tired suddenly, empty and tired. “It’s a forced heat,” he slurred, his consciousness coming in and out. Groggily he put one foot in front of the other, too unbalanced to remember quite how to walk. His father swore something, and Stile felt pulled between two directions. He _should_ be elated that his father was here, living breathing in front of him. Instead he only felt flames, so warm and needing something to cool him. On the inside.

With a cock. 

This wasn’t even one of the sexy heats Stiles had hoped to expect, part of Stiles thought, wincing as he tried to reason his way through his unsettling thoughts. “He’s not here, dad,” Stiles whined to his father. 

“I know, kiddo. He’s coming though, okay?” The sheriff wrapped his arms around Stiles, a familiar and comforting weight, just enough to draw Stiles out into reality. “He’s going to come and take care of you.” 

Yes. Stiles wanted that. Right now, more than anything, he wanted Derek here and fucking him senseless. “Yeah,” he agreed, walking a little more steadily, body willing to cooperate with him if it meant getting to sex faster. “Dad?” he asked. 

The sheriff only increased his speed, a couple wolves behind them. “Yeah?” 

“Hate this drug,” Stiles complained, almost laughing. “Should be happy to see you but all I want is Derek’s dick in my butt.” 

One of the wolves coughed behind them. But his dad didn’t seem angry or upset at him, just quietly following along, his arm a little tighter. “I know,” he said, sighing. “I’ve prepared for this since you presented.” 

Ugh, what a terrible time. “This is worse,” Stiles informed him, thinking back to his first couple of weeks, stinky and dumb and yet now he could feel shivers, feel his muscles spasm. “Long way?” he asked, watching his father’s face grimace. 

“I’ve sent someone ahead to contact Lydia. She’ll contact Hale. Either we’ll get you help or he’ll show up.” 

“If he’s not busy confronting the Argents,” someone said behind them. His father turned and glared. 

That’s right, Stiles remembered. He was turning in the evidence today. Or soon. And they were going to try and steal that- or something? And that was more important than Stiles. Stiles had to be locked away. 

His mate hated him. Didn’t want to be with Stiles. Stiles, obnoxious, selfish Stiles- 

No. No. His mate was coming. His knot was coming, going to pin him down and stuff him full and stretch him so good-

One of the wolves whimpered. “He just came,” they muttered. “He’s still standing and he just came.” 

“You get used to it,” his father snapped, and Stiles kept walking, too far gone to feel even shame. Or the floor. Stiles tumbled to the ground, the heat too much, begging the wolves for release. His father held something up to his lips- 

A sedative. Stiles frowned, but he swallowed it before his heat-brain could argue against it. Almost too quickly he reacted. “No!” he cried out. “Need my alpha!” 

“He’s coming Stiles,” his father soothed. “He’s coming.” 

Tears poured from his eyes but he listened to his father, nodding, letting everything fade into haze.

 

***

 

Stiles breathed, aware his alpha sat close to him. There wasn’t any need to open his eyes; he held out his hand and Derek took it, squeezing his hand a little. “Stiles,” Derek whispered, and Stiles nodded, and fell back asleep. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff is alive~
> 
> Next chapter wraps most things up, and the last chapter is more of an epilogue. 
> 
> One of those will have sex.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Stiles woke up a little more clearheaded, though with a pounding headache. He wasn’t sure of the tradeoff, but his Derek was by his side. Huh. Wasn’t Derek going to- 

The memory of heat slammed into Stiles's mind. Right now, it had abated- he didn't feel those pumped-up symptoms.  He panicked a little, afraid he’d start up again, but his glands were dry. Empty. He’d already secreted all he hormones and scents he could before, and his body hissed at him for trying.

Aware Stiles had woken up, Derek patted his hand reassuringly. “They’ve given you the antidote to that HyperHeat injection,” he said calmly. “Doctor says the meds will mess with your heat cycle, especially after your last heat so soon, but you’ll be fine.” He looked over at Stiles's vitals, beeping softly. “Also why you don’t have any brain damage from all that toxic surface air.” 

Stiles considered this. “The one good thing about being in heat,” he commented. His fingers tapped against Derek's fingers, taking in their warmth as thy touched. “Where am I?” He couldn’t remember much. He’d been with a man… Boyd? His dad?

“Hale hospital ward,” Derek informed him. “Unofficially. It’s still underground, in the werewolf tunnels.” He stroked the top of Stiles’s hair. “You’ve been out only a few hours,” he assured Stiles. "I got here after they'd given you the antidote."

Stiles blinked. But today... Derek was doing other things. That's why he had Stiles locked up. “Your case,” he muttered. Derek had worked so hard for that case. He’d worked so hard to build it. It was important to him. More than Stiles, even, he remembered.

“Lydia’s secretly been helping the people from Beacon Hills,” Derek said, almost sadly. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. That meant something, but he didn't have enough sense to put the pieces together. "Like... Giving them jobs?"

"That's been your father," Derek replied softly, bringing Stiles's hand to his lips as Stiles's memory refocused. In heat, his father... Stiles had seen his father. He had hugged him and his father came for him and he orgasmed in front of him, oh god. Stiles let out an embarrassed moan. 

“Lydia has been in cahoots with your father. I… I would have been compromised. She needed- I needed a third party to bring up the evidence, the charges.  Otherwise it looks like petty revenge, and the Argents had me. She was right. ” He bit his lip. “You went missing, and I knew- I knew what it would be. You or the evidence. Just like Lydia said.” 

“Lydia had it all backed up,” Stiles replied, figuring it out. He took in the scent of Derek. “And dad’s going to present it as his case.” 

Derek swallowed. “So I can be with you,” he added. “And so they can’t pin this on me.” 

Stiles sat back, thinking. Before he could really start, however, a ripe scent caught his nose. “You finished a rut,” he murmured, taking his hand back from Derek's mouth. Derek had almost gone alpha-crazy for Stiles. 

“Almost,” Derek replied. “The scent of your heat… once I saw you, I calmed down.” He sighed. “I thought you’d been killed,” he stated. “The phone- the gunfire, what she said-“ 

Stiles felt the memories, fuzzy at the edges. Kate was dead, but he didn’t know how he knew. Gunfire? Chris's surprised face... Stiles filed it away for now. He could focus on it later. 

Instead, he remembered the tunnels, how Boyd had hauled him down there, put the mask over his face to give him oxygen. “If not for Boyd…” Stiles replied, trailing off. 

Derek nodded. “If not for Boyd, you would be.” 

Stiles sighed. “Well. Guess this will force me to stop being so impulsive and head strong, huh? Plenty of time to think.” He motioned to the makeshift hospital bed.

Derek smirked. “And I can work on not being a possessive asshole,” he stated. “Get you an apartment of your own somewhere. Freedom.” 

That sounded nice, Stiles thought, but right now he _wanted_ to be with Derek. Just a little. Maybe more of visiting Derek, knowing Derek was keeping an eye on them. He opened his mouth, then paused for a moment. “Guards though?” 

“Wasn’t an option,” Derek teased. “Of course. I still plan to hire Scott."

Well, good. He and Scott could hang under the guise of bodyguards and it'd be the best. Just like old times. And Isaac and Danny could join them and they'd  have the best times, maybe create their own little company or something. 

“Erica?” 

Derek frowned. “We’re going to talk.” 

“She did the same things you did,” Stiles remembered, though he didn’t care one way or the other. He was too tired. “She was in a rut, only thinking about her mate.”

“That’s why we’re talking and not fighting,” Derek replied cooly. Stiles could feel uncertainty from Derek, anger, but understanding. Though there was a deep sadness- Erica probably would never be a bodyguard for Derek again.

Guards. Stiles breathed again, forcing himself to think about something else. He could deal with guards; safe, no longer running. “Yeah. So I’ll be with you a while, huh?” 

Derek nodded.  His gaze was fixed on the floor. “Yeah.” 

“Sorry for spoiling your epic revenge tale,” Stiles murmured. “Broken bond child and all.” 

“Stiles.” Derek turned his eyes on him, steady. “I’d rather have _you_ than revenge. Maybe it’s not a revenge tale. Maybe it’s an awkward getting to know you, and we got so caught up in everything we forgot to do that.” 

A good point. Stiles was dealing with Kate’s refusal to pay him, and Derek was getting his sources for the trial, and neither one of them had been calm or relaxed, instead aggravated and stressed. 

“Ok,” Stiles agreed. “I’m gonna start, then. You listen.” 

Derek nodded, eyes completely focused on him, and Stiles felt himself blush a little under that gaze. It seemed like Stiles was the whole center of Derek’s world. “Two… hundred years ago,” he started, laughing as Derek rolled his eyes. “There were too many people on the earth, so they moved up. Land rotted away. Countries became cities.” 

“I’m familiar with that part,” Derek muttered, but smiled when Stiles smacked him on the head playfully. 

“Listen to the sick guy, alright? I’m _sick_.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways. Eight years ago there was a big explosion, and Beacon Hills fell. I was in omega school at the time, safe and far away from _alphas_ who only fuck us senseless.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow as if waiting for Stiles to allow him to do so, but Stiles kept going. “And we ran. I lead them all out, to the last remaining emergency argent shuttles. We all arrived in Nemeton, but we were the last shuttle to arrive. After us, no one else came. No wolves. No humans. No anyone. It always struck me as suspicious.” 

Derek nodded. 

“Nemeton is far more capitalist than Beacon Hills. We were told we needed jobs, but no one would hire us. No one but the Argent complex. We had no money because we didn’t work any hours. And occasionally… our contract got bought. We weren’t stupid. We knew we were slaves, but what could we do? Our identification didn’t work. Most omegas didn’t have skills needed. A few others and I, we freelanced and set up bank accounts, but we’re always fighting the stereotypes. Kate’s not the first client I’ve had who wouldn’t pay me.” 

Stiles frowned, thinking about it. He’d… do something. Soon. Just right now, he held to Derek’s hand. "I think that's about it. There's nothing that interesting after that."

"You are always interesting," Derek countered honestly.

Stiles drifted off after a while. When he came to, he felt odd. "What's up?"

Derek wasn’t listening, though. He was focused on someone, standing between them and Stiles. Silly Alpha, Stiles thought, squeezing Derek’s hand in comfort.

“Enter,” Derek commanded gruffly. Boyd walked in, followed by someone with a mess of blond hair, eyes downcast. Boyd stood between Derek and Erica, clearly trying to keep Derek from attacking his mate. 

“Thanks for saving me, Boyd,” Stiles said, trying to break the tension. Erica trembled a little, but Boyd nodded at him, backing up and putting his hand on Erica’s shoulder. 

“You…” she trembled again, but looked up at Derek. “You abandoned us. Your pack,” she started, and Derek’s eyes flared in anger. 

But Stiles also felt shame, too, so he didn’t try to interfere. 

“Boyd disappeared and you didn’t even _notice_ , Derek,” she snapped. “I contacted you so many times and you never answered. So caught up in your Argents, your case, but you-“

Derek growled in warning. 

Erica stopped, shaking a little bit more, but she set her jaw and continued. “I didn’t have any option left, Derek. You weren’t talking to anyone but Lydia, and she was going to _kill_ Boyd. You’d do the same for him.” She pointed to Stiles, not looking at him. 

Stiles remained still, trying to calm Derek as much he could. Derek didn’t even notice, the shame and anger rolling off him in waves. 

“You had no right-“ Derek began, but she cut him off. 

“You abandoned us, Alpha. You abandoned Boyd, and we aren’t even part of your pack anymore.” Her eyes were watery. She waited as Derek tried to test the bonds, as shock replaced the anger, and the shame grew. “When you offered me the bite, I was so happy,” she finished, unable to say anything. 

“You can punish us all you like through the legal system,” Boyd continued for her. “You can, but no one will punish someone for trying to protect their mate. No one will punish Erica for being in Rut,” he finished. “She reached Rut because she couldn’t get to me, Derek.” 

Rut. Stiles remembered that; Rut was when one mating pair, the non-omegas, had a drive to be near their mate. They’d tear anyone apart. They’d go crazy. Sex often ensued after, but it was the fighting and tearing to get to their mate that society considered the dangerous part. 

Derek swallowed, his eyes looking at the two of them pressed together. They looked scared but sure, ready to leave, already omegas. Stiles opened his mouth but Derek spoke first. 

“McCall has realized he’s a true alpha,” Derek said softly. “He’s looking for a pack now, to steady him. Betas who know how to help an alpha… would be welcome, I think,” he added. “He’d show appreciation. He’d listen.” Nobody moved for a moment before Derek finished, “I can recommend you both to him, Alpha to Alpha.” 

Erica seemed even more shaken, the offer unexpected, but Boyd spoke again. “Fair,” he stated. “More than fair, Derek. We threatened your mate.” 

“You also saved my mate,” Derek added, squeezing Stiles’s hand. “And I have been a shitty alpha,” he finished, his voice breaking just a little. 

Derek’s sadness and uncertainty reached Stiles, cold and numbing. “We’ll try better,” Stiles assured Derek. “We’ll get it right next time, then.” 

Derek turned to Stiles and placed his head in Stiles’s shoulder, breathing in Stiles’s scent, not able to look at his two former betas any longer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the two heard it, and they nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” Erica added, finally looking at Stiles. With that, the two of them moved away while Derek handed his phone to Stiles. Stiles looked through it for what Derek couldn’t bear to see- hundreds of texts of Erica pleading, contacting, messaging him, all unread. 

“We’ll work on this,” Stiles assured him. “I won’t be so impulsive. You won’t be so obsessive.” 

Derek nodded in his shoulder again, breathing him in, trying to remain steady. “I nearly went feral trying to get to you,” he admitted softly. “I heard the livestream, and had everyone looking for you. Lydia found you- told me you’d been on the surface while everyone was looking for the Argents. I practically jumped down here,” Derek added, laughing just a little, and Stiles smiled softly at the image. “And if she… if she felt like I did, and she… She was my Beta, Stiles,” Derek finished softly, his words wrapped in self-hatred and loathing. “Who else have I ignored?” 

In the hallway Stiles could see the shape of his father, wrinkles and frowns shaped by perhaps the same question. Stiles patted Derek’s back while nodding to his father, who nodded back. “We’ll do better,” Stiles assured him. “I’ll help take care of omegas, and you’ll focus on your pack. You’ll help me recover and I’ll help you think about new hobbies. We’ll balance each other out.” 

Derek’s warmth seeped into his bones, and for a moment, Stiles could faintly feel something warm, like hope. 

 

 

***

 

“So when can I talk to my father again?” Stiles asked, poking Derek in the side. Though bedrest at Derek's apartment was somewhere he went willingly, and his senses were thrilled with the smell of his mate so close, Stiles was now healed enough to want something more than the closeness of his mate. Derek hadn’t let anyone else enter the home; no guards, no family, no friends, not until he was sure Stiles was safe. Though admittedly, the guards stayed outside the apartment, so it wasn’t as if they were in danger.

It was something Derek needed to work on, but his instincts right now were a lot like Stiles’s- pushed too far, and nothing to do but ride them out until they subsided. Derek remained close to him, sleeping on the floor at times to give Stiles space, always alert and listening for anything. Right now he had a tablet in his hand, sitting next to Stiles and reading. “Lydia says he’s still busy with his case,” Derek attempted, not catching Stiles’s eye. 

“And?” Stiles asked. “Because I know my dad, man, and he’s had thousands of cases and yet still had time to tell me goodnight or something.” 

Abashed,  Derek looked at the ground, still not meeting his eyes. “And maybe I said a week,” he added softly. He sheepishly looked up at Stiles, ashamed of the way his instincts had gotten the better of them. 

Stiles wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Derek hadn't even been to work, let alone to his main apartment since Stiles had been brought up from the surface. 

Stiles groaned. “You even took away his surprise at me being alive,” Stiles complained, flopping down on the bed. Part of him was glad it was just the two of him, but most of him wanted to see his dad. “I didn’t even get to freak out about it.” 

Derek turned off his tablet. “The second isn’t my fault,” he replied. “And Lydia’s the one to blame for the first point, not me.” He looked sullen and seemed offended. More than Stiles had intended with his joking. 

Stiles sighed. “I wanna tease you anyway, you know? Like, for this whole mess.” He reached up to Derek’s face. “Even though I know it’s the Argents' fault.” His hand fell back down on the bed. “It sucks having to be here, having to be patient, because this is still better than before. I want to be out there, doing something, letting others have this chance.” 

Patience was something Stiles had agreed to work on. “I know I should be patient,” he continued sullenly. “We agreed. Even if I go mad from it and you’ll be all upset.” 

“Waiting is good,” Derek replied, understanding dawning on his features. Before he could say more, though, his phone beeped with a text. He scanned it for a moment before holding it out to Stiles. “See? He’ll make it for your appointment with Deaton. Waiting pays off." 

Great. Just great. The next time he’d see his dad would be when a doctor came by to answer his questions about why he wasn’t in heat yet.

Derek turned back to Stiles's earlier question.“If you’re bored,” Derek continued, “I have a couple of properties you could live at, one for each day. You could nest and dress up each one. Until we’re more…” he paused, thinking. “Together?” 

Stiles looked up at him. “What about using one as a place of business?” He’d been toying an idea around in his mind, plans hiding out. Not that he'd tell Derek any of it right now. 

Derek frowned, but slowly nodded, acknowledging that Stiles might want to do more than live in Derek's house. Stiles could feel him fight his instincts, and the importance wasn't lost on Stiles. 

"I'd still have guards. Just for planning right now, a change of scenery."

That seemed to relax Derek slightly. "Right. Speaking of guards," he added, "Scott is just about finished with training. He'll be joining you soon." Derek waited patiently for Stiles's praise, setting his tablet down. 

Knowing Derek wanted praise, Stiles couldn't help but hide it away for a moment. "Good for Scott," he offered. It wasn't a surprise- Scott still texted him multiple times a day. When Derek sighed, Stiles leaned up and patted his cheek patronizingly. Derek fake-snapped at him. 

 With a quick flick of his wrist, Stiles nabbed the tablet from whee Derek and set it down. Stiles loaded news apps, swiping over to read a few news articles before Derek rolled his eyes and took the tablet away. “None of that, Stiles. Not right now.” 

Stiles pouted but he knew Derek was right; they needed to adjust as mates, life partners and they needed to recover from the extreme levels of stress of forced heats. If Derek could go against his instincts and let Stiles live somewhere else, Stiles could wait to hear about Kate Argent.

Even if he saw a headline that Kate Argent's body had been dumped onto the surface by Chris. Or the Gerard Argent- Addicted And Crazy. And a bunch of other headlines blaming the Argents for the current population crisis. 

And maybe some others about Derek’s quiet retreat, and a “leaked” photo Lydia had given to the tabloids of both Stiles and Derek together, suggesting Derek had found that special someone. It both garnered sympathy and adoration as well as made it seem Derek wasn't involved with the evidence. He wasn't a big shot lawyer who had gathered all of the information in the eyes of the public. He was a worried Alpha from their own werewolf family doting of his mate. 

And as to how Stiles knew the public knew this- Internet forums. Stiles had a lot of things he wanted to know, okay? A lot. He might have spent an unhealthy amount of time researching how his relationship with Derek was perceived.

Stiles looked up at Derek, who kept looking through the tablet anxiously. He could practically _feel_ his Alpha’s distress, and he turned off the tablet for the two of them, wanting to make his Alpha feel better. If only his body could…

Stiles blushed, suddenly looking away. He’d not had those kind of thoughts outside of heat. And they were degrading, too! He was worth so much more than sex and scent, and his body couldn’t even produce anything right now, so it didn’t matter anyway, right? It didn’t! He was broken but Derek was still there, and he had to take care of him by doing anything, keeping him-

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “What are you freaking out about?” 

“Nothing,” Stiles replied, ignoring him. Suggesting to himself that he should distract Derek with a blowjob. Seriously. Not cool. Not right now. 

Maybe later, after heat. Stiles nodded to himself.

Derek raised an eyebrow. 

Stiles raised one back. 

"I can smell your panic," Derek replied. "Stiles. I can feel. Your. Panic." 

Stiles sighed, biting his lip. "Fine," he replied, feeling Derek's worry through the bond. "You look so worried, and I don't have any scent left to help you feel better." He looked away. "It's dumb, but I feel all spent, right? What if there isn't anything left?" 

Derek reached for his hand. "Of course there's something left, Stiles. You're exhausted." He rubbed along the back of Stiles's palm, settling. "You can feel my thoughts and feelings, right?"

Stiles couldn't deny that. He could feel Derek's concern, his exhaustion, his need to protect- there was a bond. There was something. He nodded.  

"I don't know what you heard about mates," Derek said softly, trying to send reassurance through the bond. "But this is all normal Stiles."  

"We didn't..." Stiles remembered his classes, goofing off, doing his own thing. He'd probably missed that lesson.  "We didn't mate right away," he phrased, instead of saying, "we didn't fuck", "what happened", or "why wasn't there a heat", which were all questions Stiles planned to ask the doctor. 

"Deaton will explain better," Derek answered. "Alright. Breakfast. You wait here, and I'll bring it to you, okay?" He got up and took the tablet with him, leaving Stiles alone with his phone. 

Derek’s presence was suddenly missed. Stiles knew Derek was in the kitchen, but he felt unsettled without him. He got out of bed on unsteady legs, trying to head towards Derek’s calming scent. Immediately Derek appeared at his side. “Stiles,” he complained, picking Stiles up and carrying him, “You need more rest.” 

Stiles tried not to pout. “I know,” He declared, “But I wanna be with… your scent. It helps calm me down. Like morphine.” 

Derek grunted unhappily as he picked Stiles up. “You did not just compare me to drugs,” he complained, but he hauled Stiles into the living area, in plain sight of the stove from across the breakfast bar. 

“You don’t spend enough time in your apartment,” Stiles complained. “Scent isn’t thick enough-“

Derek threw him on the sofa, following and covering Stiles with his body. “There. That enough?” 

The scent was indeed heady and thick, and Derek was warm. It calmed Stiles immediately, the fog of panic abating instantly. He could smell contentment and… unease Hmm. Since Stiles’s pheromones weren’t working, he’d have to try and talk that unease out of Derek, rather than just scent it out. 

“Mm, much better,” Stiles allowed. “Happy Stiles. Very happy Stiles.” He wiggled a little, a thrill up his spine at the sensation of being so pinned. He couldn’t help but beam at Derek, instincts fully satisfied.

When he did, Stiles noticed Derek’s eyes faintly glowing at him. Derek’s scent had recovered from the unease, mostly tinted with lust. Stiles bared his neck instantly, gasping as Derek’s mouth came to rest on it, nipping just gently before resting there. 

Derek moved away. “Breakfast,” he muttered, and seconds later Stiles could smell burning. He let Derek go, suddenly sleepy and content, feeling very much like he was in Derek’s house. 

He wanted a space for the two of them. He wanted to throw his clothes on the floor, marking it. He wanted to be safe. 

But for now, Stiles thought, closing his eyes, he had Derek. The rest would come. 

 

***

 

Someone knocked on the door. Derek bristled before walking over to Stiles on the sofa. Derek didn't even try to be discreet about taking in huge gulps of air to steady himself. So Stiles knew someone important was at the door, and Derek would let them in. 

Maybe the doctor, Stiles wondered. Anxiety flared up at the thought of someone any aliasing him, at the thought of the doctor confirming that Stiles couldn't form a normal bond. Stiles tried to act unworried and nonchalant- it would keep Derek from being even more agitated. 

“Open,” Derek informed the people before the door, and in walked both the Sheriff and Dr. Deaton. 

His father. 

Stiles felt sudden joy at seeing his father again, for once unhindered by other biological imperatives. Weakly he stood up and moved to his father, wrapping the sheriff in a big hug. “We were the last ones on the train,” Stiles admitted. “She left without you.” 

His father held him back tightly. “They waited for the last of the omegas to evacuate before cutting power,” the sheriff told him. “Then they overloaded the circuits to keep us from following.” He looked somber, his face aged suddenly with the memories. “Without electricity, the water wouldn’t pump. We had to descent. Most weres made it.” 

Stiles knew what the sheriff wasn't saying. Most humans didn’t. 

Fuck. Stiles swallowed. “And so many omegas go missing now-“ he paused, memories floating to the surface. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

At the sheriff’s puzzled face, Derek answered for him. “He just remembered what happened in his helicar broadcast,” Derek answered. “What Kate said about the omegas being moved to…breeding centers.” He moved to touch Stiles’s shoulder. “They proved it?” he asked for the two of them. 

“They did,” Deaton replied. “Chris helped the investigation for a plea bargain. He claims he had no idea.” He moved to the sit. “For now, should we have the exam?” He opened a suitcase, a portable computer inside. 

Stiles swallow, ignoring how Deaton took a fe drops of blood from his arm, analysis get them immediately. The computer beeped, and Derek looked away while the sheriff looked at the computer intensely.

“Doc,” Stiles muttered, uncomfortable.

“Nothing unusual from a forced heat,” Deaton explained, his computer finishing the readings. “You’re recovering a little faster than expected.” 

Stiles could feel the wave of pride go through Derek. Of course Derek had been listening in, even if he looked away.

Well, then, Derek could hear all of Stiles’s questions, then. For a moment, the room seemed too small but Stiles took in a breath. “Shouldn’t meeting Derek have triggered my heat?” he asked. “Like, we have a bond, sort of, when we’re close, but maybe…” Stiles paused. “Maybe I’m broken,” he finished quietly. 

Derek’s whine was a soft thing, both through the bond and through the door. Stiles looked up at Deaton’s face, noting resigned exhaustion as Deaton sighed and shot a look at his father. “That’s also quite common,” he informed Stiles, eyes still on the Sheriff. “It’s usually covered in sex-ed.”

The sheriff defended himself. “He went to that. It’s… some things are difficult to talk about outside of sex-ed, okay?” 

Deaton ignored him. “I presume you finished your heat right before you met Derek?” 

Dumbfounded, Stiles nodded. 

“Then a weaker version of the mate-bond forms, to ensure the Alpha will find the omega when heat _does_ come.” 

Oh. Oh. That would… that would make so much sense. Why Stiles only felt Derek when Derek was nearby, but why Derek felt Stiles everywhere. 

“So no, you aren’t broken,” Deaton replied. “With your forced heat, it will take longer than normal for you to recover, of course, but otherwise your bond is making excellent progress. Besides, while it is true omegas go into heat, they often do it days or weeks after meeting, not right away, despite what movies tell us.”

Huh. Derek seemed to look surprised, too, that Stiles didn’t know, so sheepishly Stiles turned to his dad. “So much for sex-ed, huh? And the internet.” 

His father glared at him. “I made sure you took that class,” he complained, rubbing his forehead. “Twice. And you know the internet can't always be trusted.” He patted Stiles on the back all the same. “Glad you’re safe though, son.” 

Stiles remembered the fires, the shock as the city went dark, watching the emergency tubes break after their car passed through them. “Didn’t think you’d made it,” Stiles replied softly. “Glad I’m wrong.” 

He remembered the Argent man rounding them up as they arrived. Someone talked about them, not as objects, he replied, but profits. And if there were omega farms, the Argents wouldn’t have to steal omegas from another city again. They could breed their own. 

“Danny has the stand today, with Isaac,” the sheriff comforted. “Confirming what you’ve said. Scott and the wolves will testify tomorrow, and then Scott’s going to visit you.” 

“It’s all just icing on the cake, now that Chris has plead,” Derek added, probably trying to distract Stiles from the wave of uncomfortable lite that swept through Derek at hearing Scott’s name. Stiles let Derek believe he was distracted. 

“Good,” Stiles thought, holding onto his dad tightly while Deaton unhooked his machines. He pulled his dad into a sideways hug.

“Thank you,” his dad remarked to Derek, still holding tightly to Stiles. “For saving my son.” 

Stiles wanted to protest, but quickly remembered explosions on the train, and the fire- if he hadn’t been with Derek, he would have died. The Argents were thorough. They were more aggressive due to the alpha hormones in their brain than they would have been before, like when Kate had burned Derek's home.

Derek shrugged, still unsettled but uncertain of what to say. 

“Wasn’t really his choice,” Stiles remarked. “We kind of got stuck with each other.” The self-deprecating joke hung in the air, Stiles somewhat serious. But Derek only ruffled his hair, smiling back at him, offering Stiles the same support Stiles offered Derek earlier in the shelter.

Derek's happiness nearly overpowered Stiles. “I’m glad we did.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter is the epilogue and heat sex. I don't think I've written so little sex in a story in years.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up= heat sex.

Danny was on board, Stiles thought to himself, ending the productive call. Danny was on board. _Danny_ was _onboard._

Their business would take off, now that he had Danny’s agreement to work together. They’d succeed. Soar. Stiles might be richer than Derek one day. 

And all the omegas and werewolves from Beacon Hills would be employed. That too. 

But also, richer than Derek. 

Stiles breathed in, mind going over his business plan again. In the wake of the Argent’s fall, there was a huge need for a security company, both for cyber security and for physical security. And who better to fill them than the new immigrants, especially since they worked for the Argents? And so many Argent staff had been incarcerated, so the omegas already had moved to help fill those employee holes, but Argent Securities wasn’t long for this world with the falling stock numbers. So Stiles could offer a better job for omegas, and Beacon Hills weres could provide the excellent physical security- all connected through one company. 

 Stiles couldn’t do it alone, not being as isolated from the other omegas as he was. Though he had visited from time to time, met up with those who had survived the fire and dropped food and supplies to those still at the home, he didn’t live there anymore. He didn’t know what it was like to be stuck promised to work for a company that was clearly failing. Without the Argents to unofficially protect them, things were worse for the omegas. 

Derek could only do so much to help them, and the werewolves weren’t often able to cross the city in order to protect them, as the omegas had originally requested. So werewolves were stuck, omegas were stuck, and the prejudice didn’t seem to change despite the Argent leader’s arrest. The sooner Stiles could hire them, the sooner they would be safe.

That same prejudice would hurt his business, Stiles knew, but he was gambling that people were desperate enough. And Danny was on board. Danny was the best, he’d get the words around and work on training the omegas in computer programing right away. 

Stiles slipped his phone in his pocket and nodded at the two guards stationed at the front of his apartment, thinking about the next steps to his plan. He shut the door and moved to the living room, sending the plan off with Danny’s name to his other cohort, Issac and-

A text came through. 

**You feel pleased.**

Stiles scoffed at the bond. Derek was so much more sensitive to him than he to Derek. Now, with a couple months under their belt, Stiles knew he only felt the bond either in close proximity or in times of great stress, while Derek felt it all the time. Which could be handy and sweet, but mostly it meant, Stiles reminded himself, looking at the list of texts he’d saved: 

**Eat more.**

**Go talk to your father, you’re sad.**

**Go to bed.**

**I can’t help you jack off, Stiles, not until the heat, so stop doing that so your heat will come sooner**. 

The last one was the worst. They had both agreed to keep things slow before Stiles’s heat (whenever it came). They kept to dinner every other night, and watched movies on occasion, when Derek wasn’t too busy. They’d also taken time to spill heir guts and dreams with one another, Derek admitting his fear he’d lose Stiles like his family and Stiles admitting he was afraid to stay in one place.

Stiles liked this time to get to know Derek better, honestly, though the fake heat wasn’t worth it. Derek wasn’t a stranger- he was a trusted friend. Derek’s brusque attitude started to grow on Stiles, and they teased and bickered, flirting, and Stiles- 

Stiles liked Derek. Warm, fuzzy feelings burst in his chest.

**Why are you so happy? Are you with Scott?**

Stiles typed back on the phone that he was alone. Derek was trying, too, not keeping tabs on Stiles all the time, giving Stiles an apartment (that Derek still owned), and he’d tried to be less controlling, willing to relinquish his control when Stiles pushed him. He respected Stiles’s boundaries, didn’t demand what Stiles would be doing, hence why he asked about Scott. 

Stiles was trying to change, too. His plan, his company wasn’t just for his benefit- it’d help all the omegas, it’d be a place where all employees were shareholders, where they helped each other. His Dad had mentioned Stiles seemed transformed for the better, but Stiles didn’t feel changed. Mostly nowadays he felt driven, felt focused, and wanted to jump Derek. 

A lot. 

Derek often left suddenly during a make-out movie night, not wanting to start anything, apologizing and running for the door. Stiles always jacked off after, willing to risk another broken bond if he’d just _get some_. In real life, Stiles sighed, wondering if it would be so bad to see Derek’s cock. He had felt it, plenty of times before, and yet-

No. Bad Stiles.

A ding broke him from his thoughts. 

 **You’re killing me here,** Derek sent. **I’m in a meeting.**  

Once again Stiles wondered how much Derek could feel, if Derek jerked off when Stiles did. Right now Derek was in a meeting, so Stiles took a moment to think about Derek fucking him in his business suit at the meeting as a “fuck you, I do what I want” before he attempted to calm down. Stiles could be polite and not a little shit. He could text Scott about… 

About something… 

Danny! Danny joining. So he typed away, sending Scott his thoughts. Scott would love to hear the final puzzle piece being put into place in regards to his business plan. Plus, Derek would let Stiles take Scott away as an employee. He sent the text, ecstatic, ignoring how he slipped over the sofa chest-down and ass up in the air, glaring at the lack of Derek in his house. 

Well, mostly. Derek had left a shirt the last time. Like a bag of dirty clothes. Stiles pulled it over to him, smelling it. It was something to mark the apartment as Derek’s den.  

 **Bro, why do I care?** Came the response, and Stiles frowned for a moment, offended. That wasn’t like Scott, Scott _would_ care. Glancing through his messages Stiles quickly found the miscommunication. 

 **Derek in a business suit.** _That_ was the text what he’d sent Scott. 

Fuck. Stiles hadn’t meant to send that at all. Stiles quickly typed an apology and sent the real message, sitting up and moving the dirty clothes to the laundry room. As he looked around, Stiles frowned. Everything in the apartment seemed to be dirty. Well, first to start with the bedroom, Stiles thought. With a quickness usually seen when Stiles ran to catch the train, he stripped the bed, replacing the dirty sheets with cool, sleek ones- some artificial silk that would keep him and Derek cool and let their skin breathe after a night of knotting. 

Stiles admired his handiwork for a moment before he paused. 

Knotting. 

Wait. 

Stiles ran back to his phone, texting Scott about the weird cleaning impulses. 

Immediately Scott responded. **You sound like you’re starting heat? Remember when you wouldn’t let your dad in the apartment because he’d spoil the air flow of your home?**

Bingo. 

“Scott, you beautiful mother-fucker,” Stiles breathed, excitement flaring through him. It _was_ his heat. Derek would come by, and they would claim. Mate. Tonight. 

The thought somehow both calmed him and sent him into overdrive, picturing what might happen. Maybe Derek would burst in and immediately haul Stiles to the bed, safe and enthralled by Stiles’s scent. Maybe he’d pin Stiles down and…

Another ping from Derek. 

Stiles felt an illicit thrill, picturing Derek hard and desperate in his important meeting. The first ping was quickly followed by another ping. 

Brilliant. He checked his phone- two scolding texts from Derek. 

 _Tease me more, bossman_ , Stiles thought, laying back on the sofa and picturing it. Derek scolding Stiles in his office, Stiles suddenly bent over his desk, just a pretty office plaything. Derek wouldn’t hit him- oh no, he’d know Stiles enjoyed that- so he’d keep Stiles on edge, fingering him almost absentmindedly as Derek continued doing office work. Derek would never let Stiles reach the edge of orgasm. 

Stiles whined, feeling slick drip between his legs, remembering this feeling. It wasn’t a strong heat, but it _was_ a heat indeed. Maybe it wouldn’t even last three days but that would be enough for Derek and Stiles to bond. 

Wrapping his hand around his cock, Stiles wondered how badly Derek would scold him if he didn’t tell Derek about this heat. How Derek would sniff around the room and _know,_ his alpha-eyes glowing red. It was almost too good to be true; Derek would be possessive again, and pin Stiles down and rut into him. 

Lazily he slid his hand up and down a few times, lips parted as he let himself go; he wondered about how desperate Derek felt right now. Had Derek hidden himself away, or was he was stoically sticking it out in the meeting, with his eyes flashing and boner hidden underneath the desk?

Stiles knew what Derek looked like aroused; there was too much experience with that in their make-outs. What Stiles wanted to know was what Derek looked when he came _undone_. Stiles wanted to see Derek shake apart, as he died just a little, released and relaxed in Stiles’s arms. 

Yeah. Stiles wanted that. Stiles rutted up in his hand, hips arching off the sofa as his slicked hand kept stroking, ignoring his need to be filled. Stiles came picturing Derek above him, crying out as he felt satisfied once, coming down and still feeling aroused in his gut. 

Yup. Totally a heat. 

This feeling, though, of satisfaction wasn’t just the afterglow of an orgasm. It also felt tinted with relief, which suddenly took him over and overwhelmed him. Stiles would be bonded. He’d carry Derek’s surly little pups and probably give birth at home and teach them how to hack into bank accounts and how to blend into the crowd, except when it came to Derek who’d always find him and maybe they’d claim then, in public, with Derek stuffing him full of new pups… 

Oh, but not in front of the young ones, that was creepy. Stiles shook his head. 

Ding. 

Ding ding. 

Ding. 

A voice message. Stiles sighed, not wanting to move, but played the message back anyway. 

“Christ, Stiles,” Derek groaned. “I can feel… I feel… I…” Derek gasped, and Stiles shivered, sure he had just heard Derek come into the phone. “Still, Stiles? Are you in heat? How can you-“ 

The message stopped, then the next one played. “Stiles,” Derek growled. “I’m coming over. Now.” 

Groaning, Stiles could picture that very well: Derek storming in, taking him back to his den. Stiles might want that, really, if this wasn’t- 

Dang it hormones, he thought, suddenly holding back tears- 

Wasn’t already Derek’s den. And Derek wasn’t here, but Stiles was in his den, and Derek might not come, he might get held up-

Stiles shook his head from the instinctual panic. Only one thing to do now he decided- go to the bedroom and make it _reek_ with Stiles’s heat. Derek would have to fuck him then. Groggily Stiles  jumped off the sofa, heading to the bedroom. The sheets were cool like he wanted, the comforter soft and warm, and he reeked with the smell of his heat, ripe, tantalizing. It seeped into the walls of the room, soaking the thing in the scent of his arousal and slick.

Before Stiles could be content, though, he needed far more Derek scent in the room.  

Groaning, he shimmed out of his clothes and climbed on the bed ass up. Derek wouldn’t come for a while, and when he did, Stiles didn't’ want to be stuck in the clothes. He threw his shirt in a pile of clothes on the floor, moving his fingers back and fingering himself. 

Somewhere he thought he should stretch himself, but instead he just wanted to make the room smell as much like him as possible, thinking of how crazy Derek would go when he smelled Stiles, maybe slipping his knot inside. 

Stiles’s fingers slipped out once or twice for the angle wasn’t good, barely satisfying. He thought of Derek watching him and more slick leaked out of his ass, dribbling down his swinging balls. He kept at it, determined to make the house reek. 

The phone started ringing again, Derek leaving messages. Stiles pushed automatic play. 

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek breathed on the phone. “I’m coming, okay? Hold on.” 

“Call,” Stiles pleaded to his phone, needing to hear Derek’s voice. “Derek,” he whimpered. At the sound of Derek’s breath, Stiles remembered he should probably stretch for Derek’s knot. “Come soon,” he gasped, fingers stretching him wide, finally doing _something_ he wanted. Full and stretching, good feelings. 

“Soon as I can,” Derek promised. “Gonna get there and slide right into you.” 

Yes. Stiles moaned at that image, body producing another dabble of slick. He slid in another finger, stretching himself. “Prepping for it,” he announced proudly. 

So far, his heat was like most of his others- a little loopy, sex focused, but Stiles was still mostly in control of his senses. Derek’s voice was a nice touch, though. 

“Good,” Derek purred. “Been waiting so long, Stiles. Gonna pop a knot the moment I see you.” 

Stiles could picture it, crying out some ugly sound as he came onto the sheets, hold clenching around his fingers. He gasped Derek’s name as he orgasmed a little again at Derek’s low, pleased rumble. 

His legs shook as he fell down onto the bed, fingers removed to relieve the cramp in his wrist. “Gunna mark me,” he dreamed, Derek’s groan in his ears. “Bite me all over.” He wanted that. 

“A little bit,” Derek grunted. “Wait just a little bit.” 

Laughing, Stiles could hear the crowds of people behind Derek. “Want to hear how wet I am right now?” he asked, giggling at Derek’s inhale. “How many fingers I can slip inside myself?” 

“You’re a menace,” Derek hissed. “I’m in public.” 

Lazily Stiles laughed again, turning over on the bed. “I could meet you in public-“

“Stay there,” Derek commanded with his alpha-voice. Stiles’s teasing had gone a little too far against Derek’s instincts. No sharing, possessive. But though Derek whined immediately, knowing Stiles didn’t always like it, Stiles appreciated the thought in his heat. He only wanted Derek. 

“Get here _faster_ ,” Stiles whined. “Make me yours.” 

“I’m trying,” Derek snapped, and the phone beeped. “I’ll be there soon.” 

The line disconnected and Stiles groaned. Towels. They would need lots and lots of towels. He stood on shaky legs, trying to ignore how quickly his heat was driving him- he wanted to orgasm again, and again. Maybe part of it was the bond.

At least his balls didn’t have to keep up, he thought, not like an alpha squirting everywhere. By the end of his heat, all the come would be Derek’s. Omegas eventually dry came. Stiles would be drenched, probably, pregnant if he didn’t know that Derek took birth control. 

Stiles grabbed some towels and cleaned up the bedspread, leaving clean towels behind and throwing both his clothes and the dirty towels in the hamper with Derek’s shirt. 

The bond flickered awake inside him- stress. Urgency. Derek was close, focused on a single mission, irritable and aroused .

Slick dripped down Stiles’s thighs as he thought about it. Derek had come for him. Quickly Stiles grabbed some water for the two of them, some fruit, too. Just as he stet it on the nightstand, the door to the apartment opened. 

Oh, fuck. This was _nothing_ like his heats before. The strong scent of an alpha hit him, all right and strong and healthy, and Stiles felt his body ramp up hormones in response. Blearily he fell onto the bed face first, legs parted as he could only focus on Derek’s scent coming closer. 

In turn, Derek’s arousal had gone from mild to high, stripping out of his clothes as he stepped closer to the bed, growling his approval. Stiles had to show Derek how much he needed this, and instinct pushed him to his hands and knees, ass high in the air. 

“I thought you’d been joking,” Derek uttered as two fingers slipped easily inside, stretching him further. Stiles whined as he shoved his ass back, fucking himself on Derek’s fingers. He ground down, brushing his prostate, body thrilled at having something thick and warm that smelled like his alpha. “You really _are_ this needy.” 

“Fuckin’ been ready, ah-“ Stiles gasped as Derek’s fingers twitched, “For a while. Wanted you to fuck me nights ago.” 

Derek withdrew his fingers, climbing up on the bed behind Stiles. “Wanted that too,” he admitted, hand steady on Stiles’s hips, so big and warm and sending fire up Stiles’s side at how perfectly they fit on his hips, how easily they guided him back to the head of Derek’s dick. 

Stiles gasped as he felt Derek push just a little, the cock head leaking precome against his slippery hole. But Derek didn’t enter. Instead, he rubbed his cock against Stiles’s entrance teasingly. Stiles shivered, feeling a bead of sweat streak down his arm. “Please, Derek,” he begged. 

Nothing changed. Derek still teased the head of his cock against Stiles’s hole as if he hadn’t heard Stiles at all. “Gonna make you smell like me,” Derek began, shifting his weight forward. Stiles licked his lips, and took a breath to prepare himself, ignoring how his arms trembled from the adrenaline inside him. 

 In one solid motion, Derek slid inside, and Stiles gasped out loud at the intrusion.  Derek was all thick and hard and hot, pressing him open in the most delicious ways. His body was warm and covered Stiles, keeping Stiles pinned with all of Derek. Derek was inside Stiles and around Stiles, his weight somehow delicious as he pinned Stiles’s down, his body hard and muscles coiled. Once Stiles could process that Derek enveloped all of him, his hands tightened in the sheets, grabbing for anything so he could center himself. 

Hot breaths panted in Stiles’s ear as Derek adjusted himself, waiting, probably just feeling Stiles through his dick. Maddeningly he didn’t move, and Stiles moved for them. As he tried to grind back against the length, his body tightening to heighten his pleasure, Stiles nearly cried in frustration. It wasn’t enough. He needed Derek to move. 

He trembled at each puff of Derek’s breath, trying to come up with something snarky but failing, mind short-circuiting as Derek’s chest breathed against him, rising, falling, warm, solid, and sweaty. Instead he just tightened his grip, hoping Derek would move soon. 

Stiles’s wishes were granted- but not how he expected. It wasn’t Derek’s dick that moved- instead Derek’s mouth moved from his ear to his neck, placing biting kisses. Stiles shivered and twitched because, yes, he wanted that. He wanted to be marked. All he could say to that matter, though, was a sharp inhale as Derek kept kissing him, an gasp as he felt Derek push him down into the bed and forcing his arms down, hands overtaking Stiles’s as he slowly ground his dick into him, mimicking what Stiles had attempted to do earlier. Derek’s balls slapped against Stiles’s ass as he did so, and his fingers dug into the space between Stiles’s own, mouth pressing wet open kisses against Stiles’s skin. 

In this world there was nothing but Derek, and Stiles couldn’t imagine knowing anything else.  If Stiles could think, he’d think that mostly his body just enjoyed the teasing, wanting more. Derek had him pinned and helpless, and words couldn’t even form before they’d escaped from his spit slick mouth. 

Suddenly Derek’s hands tightened around Stiles’s, giving Stiles nothing to grip but Derek’s fingers as Derek’s hips pulled out-

Empty, cold, too empty-

-And slammed back in, angled right against that magical spot inside Stiles. Stiles cried out as Derek rammed into him again, caught between Derek’s solid weight and the mattress underneath, no choice but to take whatever Derek gave him. 

“Ah, ah,” Stiles cried out, trying uselessly to grip against Derek’s hands. No leverage, he just had to deal. Stiles fumbled around, trying to find _something_ to brace against, but Derek’s weight didn’t let him move as Derek snapped his hips again. 

“That’s it,” Derek grunted into his ear, fuzzy chest caught in sweat. “Just like that, Stiles. _Take_ it.” 

Stiles gasped, mouth open, intaking as much cool air as he could to escape the scorching air between them. He was stuck in heat, one he couldn’t escape, mind floating as Derek pinned him and pushed into him again and again. Stiles twitched, squeezing, so close to orgasm, so painfully close.

Derek’s teeth grazed again and again over a spot on his neck as Derek’s hips continued to pound against Stiles’s ass, dick pressing in as far as he could into Stiles’s ass.  His fingers dug down, closer to orgasm. 

The knowledge that Derek would fill him soon, that Derek would come dragged Stiles over the edge.  Feeling full and bred and satisfied, Stiles cried out as he came against the bed, hi world splintering apart. After a moment, he felt Derek’s world shatter inside him too, as Derek’s knot grew larger and he released into Stiles, body shaking. Derek had come. They’d done it. 

Stiles breathed in. It wasn’t only his hormones that settled back after the orgasm- he felt pieces of Derek’s mind mix with his, filling empty spots inside him- the bond. 

They’d sealed the bond. They’d… Stiles breathed, feeling Derek shudder, hearing him whimper. Stiles _knew_ he was too far gone to instinct to realize that the bond had taken, teeth still inside Stiles’s neck, hips rutting uselessly as his knot kept spilling seed. It’d be some time with Stiles pinned underneath Derek before he’d come around to realize. 

“So good, Derek,” Stiles groaned, unsurprised at how horse his voice sounded. It didn’t matter; he knew what Derek wanted, what Derek needed to hear as clearly as he knew Derek’s weight pressed down against him. Derek grunted in approval as he withdrew his teeth, lapping at the blood. “Fuck,” he added as he felt Derek’s knot pulsate between them, stuck, the bond humming easily. “Derek, I can _feel_ you.” 

He did. Derek’s hips snapped as Derek growled, trying to get deeper, thinking the “feel you” was more physical. Stiles cried out, knowing exactly what Derek wanted to do and knowing his body couldn’t take many more orgasms right now, “The bond! The bond!” 

Derek stilled for a moment before he breathed, thinking, and then growled again, giving up on the difficult task. 

And then his weight fell on top of Stiles, spent, and Stiles could feel the weeks of exhaustion of Derek trying to balance pack and Stiles and work and orgasm. Stiles was neither pleased nor surprised when Derek passed out on top of him. 

 

***

 

Perhaps more surprisingly, Stiles’s heat passed once he’d been knotted. Perhaps his body had only been waiting for a knot or a bond, Stiles thought. “Morning,” he told Derek as Derek grunted awake. His face frowned for a moment, before the emotions of surprise, horror, and concern fell across it. 

“You’re done?” Derek asked, worry zinging across the bond. “Did I miss it?” 

Stiles could feel his confusion, disbelief, and he sent waves of reassurance through the bond instead of verbally responding. Derek’s face lit up, mouth tracing back over the mark. “Bonded,” he muttered. “Mine.” 

“Yeah, and you’ve got lots of time to keep doing this,” Stiles snapped. “So for now, off, you’ve claimed me and I stink.” 

Derek shook his head. “Mine,” he said again, but pulled out slowly. Stiles winced as he felt come dribble out of his sensitive hole. “I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll take care of you,” he added, and Stiles knew he didn’t want to chance Stiles mistaking his instincts for control again.  

That in itself was enough to make Stiles agreeable. “Good,” Stiles agreed, turning over. He planned to milk this for all it was worth, playing into the little shit role to reassure Derek. But at Derek’s soft, loopy grin, he forgot about being demanding for the sake of being demanding. Instead, his voice went soft, like his insides. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Derek responded, leaning forward and kissing Stiles softly on the lips. Stiles puckered up again, darting in for another kiss as they parted. 

“Best day,” Stiles continued. “Submitted my Big Plan, Danny and Scott agreed, my heat is _over_ , and I’m bonded. Mated.” He sighed dramatically, watching Derek’s face remain soft and fond. “But the best part,” Stiles said, grinning, “Is that in all of this, I got to know you. More than I would have seen if it had been traditional, I think.” 

Derek smirked, and kissed Stiles again. “Not as much as I got to know you,” he teased. “But yeah.” He lay his hand on top of Stiles’s, intertwining their fingers again. “It was pretty great.” 

Stiles smiled brightly at him, warmth bubbling up in his chest as he thought about his future with this man, who saw him as an equal, a partner, a lover, important and precious, but still tried his best to respect him and treat him like so.

“Yeah.” 

Stiles was the luckiest man in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and following along with this story!


End file.
